


Fawkes Five

by Wherearemydrag0ns



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), De-Aged Characters, Fixing Things Is More Complicated Than They Thought, Gen, I Know It Says Fawkes Five But Luna Will Be In This, Luna Hears About Time Travel And Just Rolls With It, Mental Time Travel, POV Multiple, Things Quickly Go Wrong, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 33,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21873673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wherearemydrag0ns/pseuds/Wherearemydrag0ns
Summary: Harry was really not sure what was happening. One thing was certain, he did not like one bit of it.With the help of the Time Turner they had been able to rescue Sirius from the Dementors, but the Dark Lord’s faithful servant was still able to escape, setting in motion a terrible future. Fawkes hastily decides to intervene before Hermione can return the Time Turner, sending five Hogwarts students back in time to their younger bodies. But do they possess enough foreknowledge to create a better outcome?
Comments: 92
Kudos: 339





	1. Something Goes Terribly, Horribly Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> I love time travel fics, but so many involve Harry being sent back after the Battle of Hogwarts. So I thought I'd explore a little what it would be like if Harry and his friends were sent back at the end of Prisoner of Azkaban. To anyone reading my OC fic, don't worry I'm still updating that too, but it will be a while because I'm still plotting the story out. Enjoy!

Harry was really not sure what was happening. One thing was certain, he didn’t like one bit of it.

It had all happened so fast. There had been screeching. A phoenix had been writhing in pain. Five pairs of hands had rushed forward in confusion to hold the bird down, trying to help the screaming creature. And then before Harry could blink the floor vanished under his feet and he was thrown hurtling into madness.

The world spun around him in a storm of golden flames. There was no up, no down, no sense of where he was. Harry scrambled as he fell, trying to find something, anything to hold on to, buffeted by the winds whipped up from the vortex around him. Familiar shadows flew in and out of the flames, whipping past before he could identify them. Somewhere, carried by the wind, he could hear screams and yells. He was screaming too, for Ron and Hermione. They had been with him, but now he couldn’t see them anywhere.

He kept falling, spinning faster and faster until the flames blurred into one long wall of light and he could see no more.

It was a while before Harry registered that he had stopped moving. He lay still, wherever he was, keeping his eyes tightly shut. Listening for the roar of the flames, he heard only his heart beating in his chest. The world had gone quiet.

Harry slowly opened his eyes. The flames were finally gone. It was dark, too dark to really see where he was, but he could make out a slanted ceiling above him.

He remembered that he’d been in the hospital wing with Ron and Hermione. Ron’s leg was still broken, and Ginny and Neville had joined them. And then… something had gone wrong with Fawkes. But as he fumbled to understand what exactly had happened Harry felt the memories float beyond his reach, like a dream slipping quietly away.

A wave of drowsiness washed over him and in that moment Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. His head was so heavy, as though it had been filled to the brim with water. His eyes drifted shut. He was so tired, he wanted so so badly to sleep…

A harsh rap on the door jolted him awake.

“UP!”

\---

It was snowing outside. Ron blinked at the window in confusion. Why was it snowing?

His first thought when he’d woken up in his own bed was that he’d been sent home. Except that made no sense. Madam Pomfrey could heal broken legs easily, and there were still a few weeks of lessons left. Plus he couldn’t feel any pain in his leg. Ron sat up in his bed and made to stand up, testing the weight of his leg. It seemed fine. Ron rolled up his pyjamas to examine it. Expecting to see a mess where the giant dog had bitten him he was surprised to find his skin smooth and unmarked.

So… He was home. His leg was fine. And it was snowing. In June. And was it just him or did everything in his room seem… bigger?

The smell of bacon and eggs cooking downstairs wafted through the door. His stomach growled at the scent but he ignored it, his mind was buzzing too loudly with questions. He could hear the usual cacophony of shouting and protesting coming from the kitchen. Ron hesitantly made his way to the door and peered his head out into the landing. It sounded as though Fred and George had broken something downstairs, and now Mum was in the middle of a lecture.

Ron hovered for a moment, figuring it might be best to wait until Mum had finished before he interrupted to ask why he was home and, most importantly, _why was it snowing in June_, when he heard a distressed gasp from Ginny’s room.

“Ginny?” he asked uncertainly. He stumbled to her door, sending the home-made ‘Ginny’s Room’ sign clattering as he shoved the door open to see Ginny standing wide-eyed in the middle of her room. Ron gaped at her for a moment, taken aback by how tiny she was. Then he saw the tears streaming down her face.

“Ron, I- I think I lost time again” her voice trembled. The terror raised in her voice and Ginny burst into sobs. “The last time like this was with Riddle, but I don’t know how- I thought it was over-”

Ron hurried over and quickly drew his sister into a hug. He could feel her shaking violently in his arms, so he held her closer. Questions of how and why could wait for now.

\---

It was important, Hermione thought, that she remain calm. Try to figure out what exactly had happened, and then she can think about her next best move. Panicking was not going to help in this situation.

Except the situation was that she was looking in the mirror and seeing her younger self staring back at her. Hermione gaped in astonishment at how much rounder her face looked, how tiny her mouth was, making her front teeth look all the more too big. The last time she’d looked in this mirror she could see most of her torso. Now her shoulders only just about came into view.

In the corner of the room, folded neatly in the armchair by her bookcase, was a green dress and a soft white cardigan. Hermione slowly reached out to touch the cardigan, rubbing the soft fabric between the fingers. Both it and the dress looked brand new. She remembered getting these clothes. They had been a Christmas gift from her granny years ago. If her memory was correct then that meant she was in her 9-year old body.

It was impossible. Absolutely impossible. She must be in some sort of dream. Time Turners could turn back the clock but they did _not_ make you younger. And they were never, _never_ used to go this far back.

Hermione tried to piece together what had happened. She and Harry had gone to visit Ron in the hospital wing. They’d been talking about Sirius and Buckbeak, wondering how far they had managed to get away, when Ginny and Neville turned up and they quickly changed the conversation. And then…

_The phoenix_. Hermione’s hand flew to her neck, to where the Time Turner should be. It was gone. It was more than gone, she realised in horror. The chain had been cut by Fawkes’ talons as she tried to help calm the screeching bird. The tiny, fragile hourglass had shattered to pieces on the floor just as the phoenix burst into flame.

_Don’t panic_, she told herself again. _Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t panic_. But Hermione was panicking. Because something had just gone terribly, horribly wrong.


	2. In Which Time Travel Upsets Harry's Stomach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up to realise he's back in Privet Drive. He does not take it well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year's Eve Eve! Enjoy!

Everything looked massive. That was Harry’s third thought as he’d staggered in confusion out of the cupboard under the stairs and followed his Aunt Petunia into the kitchen. The room looked larger, the kitchen counter looked higher, even his Aunt looked taller than he remembered.

His second thought was what on earth had he done to end up in his cupboard again? The shock of realising he had woken up in his old cupboard had rendered him still and speechless, until another harsh rap on the door had told him his Aunt was getting impatient. His brain still working like sludge, Harry stumbled to get out of bed and pull on a pair of socks, wondering if the Dursleys had still been so angry about the Aunt Marge incident last summer that they’d thrown him in here the second they got back from King’s Cross.

Except he couldn’t remember the journey back to Privet Drive. Or the journey to King’s Cross. He couldn’t even remember the end of term. Therefore his first thought was, of course, how the bloody hell did he get here?

“Watch it!” shrieked Aunt Petunia. “You’re burning the bacon!”

Harry yearned to retort that he could barely see the bacon. He was so tiny he was having to peer up over the counter to get a proper look at the frying pan. It was this detail that finally cleared the sludge from his brain.

Harry froze. His aunt’s anger muted to a distant buzz in his ears, and he was suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. “I need the toilet” he heard himself say, and he fled the room before his Aunt could call him back.

The bathroom mirror confirmed the horrifying truth. He was back in his younger body. Harry tried to control his breathing as he stared at his reflection. How old was he? The shirt he was wearing was another one of Dudley’s, only now it was so large on him it looked like he was wearing a tent. There was a dull thud across the landing. His cousin had just gotten out of bed, no doubt drawn by the strong smell of burning bacon.

Harry opened the bathroom door a crack to get a glimpse of his cousin. Dudley was yawning and scratching his chest as he made his way across the landing, not noticing Harry as he turned to the stairs. He looked about 8 or 9 years old, or 10 at the most.

Harry promptly closed the bathroom door and threw up in the toilet. Shaking, he staggered over to the sink, washing out his mouth and splashing water on his face. Harry let the tap continue to run and leaned over the sink, closing his eyes in thought. How was he going to get back to his own time? It must have been the Time Turner that had done this, somehow, but he couldn’t think of what could be done to go forward in time. A wave of panic washed over him. What if he was stuck here? Harry shuddered at the idea of another few years at the Dursleys. He had to get a message to Dumbledore quickly, and hope he believes him.

A disturbing thought crept into his mind. That maybe none of it had been real. Maybe Harry had woken from a very long and very detailed dream. That idea made Harry throw up again.

_“It was real”_ he muttered to himself. Sitting on the toilet seat Harry gripped his head in his hands, repeating the mantra to himself over and over again. _“It was real. It was real. You weren’t dreaming”_. The memories of the future felt a bit fuzzy, but unlike before Harry clung onto them fiercely, determined not to let them drift away. The wizarding world was real, now he just needed to find help.

Except real or not real, the fact was that he didn’t have any way of contacting the wizarding world. With a pang he thought of Hedwig. Spending his summers at the Dursleys was bad enough, but at least then he had Hedwig for company, and letters from his friends.

Harry jumped up. Ron and Hermione! They were with him in the hospital wing. Could they have been sent back too? Harry felt a small bubble of hope in his chest. If they remembered him, they could send him an owl! “_Please_” Harry thought to himself. _“Please let them remember me”._

Harry quickly mopped up the rest of the sick and did the best he could to gather himself. He could do this. Hopefully it will only take a few days. He will get a letter or a phone call from his friends and it will prove it had all been real and he’ll get out of Privet Drive as soon as possible. He just had to put up with the Dursleys for a few days.

He heard a car pull up in the driveway outside and a key clicked in the doorway. Downstairs footsteps hurried from the kitchen to greet whoever was coming through the front door. There was a loud thud, the sound of a heavy bag being dropped on the floor, and cries of welcome. And then the large, booming voice of Aunt Marge proclaimed “HAPPY NEW YEARS EVE MY NEPHY-POO!”


	3. Back to the Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Years Eve at the Burrow - Ron and Ginny enjoy seeing how young everyone looks and then Ron remembers something important

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to check in on Ron and Ginny - thank you all for reading! I love writing Ginny's POV, and I feel the after-effects of Riddle are unfortunately under explored in canon. Next up is Hermione!

“Bloody hell. They look so young”. Ron murmured to her. Ginny quietly hummed in agreement, staring at the twins as they sat sheepishly at the end of the kitchen table, still fresh from being told off by Mum. They were only a year younger than she had been before… before whatever had just happened, but the last time she’d seen them they’d been 15 years old. Now…

“They’re practically babies” she giggled to Ron, who snorted in response. She knew Ron could get a bit intimidated by their teasing sometimes, so she could tell he was definitely enjoying seeing the twins look so tiny. “Then again, so are we”.

Ginny had been surprised by how much higher Ron’s voice was. She hadn’t realised that Ron’s voice had gotten deeper before. With Percy it had been an event, with Mum snapping at them not to laugh as his voice had squeaked and cracked mid-sentence, while trying to hide her own amused smile. Ginny and Ron had therefore looked forward to making fun of the twins when their voices cracked, wondering if they would crack at the same time or if one would crack before the other, and then Ginny had looked forward to making fun of Ron.

Except it seemed she had missed it, or not noticed when his voice got deeper. Now her brother sounded almost sweet in comparison. Meanwhile she had all her puppy fat back. She had lost most of it during her first year at Hogwarts. The year from hell. A year of waking up in different parts of the castle, with no knowledge of how she got there, a year of Riddle’s voice whispering in her head, a year of slowly going mad.

She’d shed a lot of weight that year. Mum spent the following summer tearfully serving her portions big enough for two people at every meal, and then second and even third servings on top of that. Her next year at Hogwarts had involved frequent letters home assuring Mum that she was eating enough at meals, and to stop asking Percy to check on her all the time.

Percy was now 13 years old and hunched over his arithmancy homework. Ginny watched as he pushed up his glasses and shot a warning scowl at the twins, who were reaching over the table to not so subtly yank his homework away.

“No homework at breakfast dear” sad Mum, placing a plate of sausages in front of Dad, which the twins immediately leapt at. “Charlie, go back upstairs and put some socks on those feet, you’ll catch a chill” she called over the din, as a yawning teenaged Charlie entered and immediately exited the kitchen.

Ginny watched the scene, a warm feeling in her chest. She’d been so panicked earlier when she woke up in her room with no memory of how she got there and no idea how much time had passed. Memories of Riddle taking over her body had all come flooding back. But watching her family in their tiny kitchen, still festively decorated for Christmas, was calming. True, being stuck in their past bodies was still a cause for concern, but anything was better than Riddle.

After breakfast Ron nudged her, and they slipped away upstairs. Once they were certain they were out of earshot she turned to her brother and raised an eyebrow.

“So, we’ve gone back to New Years Eve from four years ago. Now what?”

Ron gave a backwards glance downstairs as he led them to his room. “Do you reckon the others were sent back too?” he muttered hopefully. “Harry and Hermione?”

“And Neville” Ginny added. “He was with us in the hospital wing too. We need to find a way to borrow Errol, so we can send them a letter”.

That was going to be a problem. At their age they couldn’t really send a letter without their parents asking who they were sending a letter to, and they would notice if Errol was out on a delivery. They’d both agreed not to say anything about time travel to their parents. Not yet at least. Not till they figured out a way to make sure they’d believe them. Right now they’d probably think little Ron and Ginny were just playing a game, or that they’d gone mad.

They sat down on Ron’s bed. As in the future, the room was bright orange. Ginny glanced at the Chudley Cannon’s poster. It was a different one, with the old line-up. She never understood Ron’s support for that team.

“What if they don’t remember?” she asked, a worried thought creeping up on her. “What if they weren’t sent back? They might just ignore the letter, or think it’s a prank”.

“We’ve got to do something” said Ron. “We can’t just wait two years for me to get my Hogwarts letter, Harry-”

Ron hesitated for a moment, and swallowed. “Harry needs us to get him away from the Dursley’s, even if he doesn’t remember. They treat him horribly Ginny, we need to at least get him a message so he knows we’re here”.

Ginny’s stomach turned. She’d almost forgotten about it after the year with Riddle, but the twin’s stories of bars on Harry’s windows had disturbed her. She’d never heard Harry talking about his relatives, and she wasn’t sure if he talked to Ron about it, but Ron seemed worried.

“I don’t know what we can do about that Ron” she said sadly. “Do we just go up to Mum and Dad and say ‘hey, we’ve never met him, but can Harry Potter come live with us?’”

Ron fell silent, thinking. “Maybe we should tell someone about the time travel after all” he suggested slowly. “If we can think of something to tell Mum and Dad that we couldn’t otherwise know perhaps-”

To Ginny’s alarm Ron suddenly leapt up from his bed as though he’d been burnt. He spun frantically around, scanning the room. Then without a word he tore open the door and ran upstairs.

“What is it?” Ginny shouted after him. She followed him up, taking the steps two at a time. She caught up with him stood in the doorway to Percy’s room.

“What?” she panted, annoyed. Ron was staring at something, eyes fixated in horror. She followed his gaze to see Scabbers’ empty cage.

“Oh yeah, Scabbers is back” she said, frowning at Ron. “Bloody hell Ron, you scared me there”. Ron said nothing, going quickly down on his hands and knees and searching under the bed, throwing Percy’s possessions carelessly behind him.

“Is this really a priority right now?” Ginny asked impatiently. “I know you missed Scabbers but- honestly Ron don’t worry, Percy probably just let him out of his cage, you used to do that all the-”

Ron scrambled out from under the bed and clamped his hand over her mouth roughly. Ginny angrily swiped his hand away and shoved him. “Get off!” she scowled. “What was that for?”

“Ssshh!” Ron desperately gestured for her to be quiet. Ginny froze when she saw the fear in his eyes. Ron glanced nervously around the room and grabbed Ginny’s hand, pulling her out of Percy’s room and carefully shutting the door behind them.

“I can’t explain yet” he said in a faint whisper, so quiet she could barely hear. “He could be listening”.

“Who could be listening? _Scabbers_?” Ginny hissed in confusion.

Ron was trembling. “We need to find him” he whispered urgently. “_Now_”.

A cold sense of dread crept up Ginny’s spine. For some reason, whatever it could possibly be, Ron was suddenly afraid of Scabbers.


	4. Slipping Into The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the day went on Hermione came to realise a very important thing. Not only did she now have the body of a 9-year-old, but the mind of one too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! I intended for this next chapter to be up only a week after the last update. I’d give an excuse except I don’t have one – though I can promise there won’t be too much of a wait for the next chapter. Working on both Neville and Harry’s next chapters at the moment so next up will be either of them, or hey even a double drop because thank you all so much for reading!

As the day went on Hermione came to realise a very important thing. Not only did she now have the body of a 9-year-old, but the mind of one too.

This was not to say that she’d lost four years’ worth of knowledge and experience. Her memories of the future, while a little hazy, were still intact, and she was definitely picking up on things that her younger self would not have noticed. For instance upon their arrival at the Timpsin’s New Year’s Eve party the greeting Mrs Timpsin gave her mum was far too friendly to be sincere. And Mr Collins in the kitchen was almost certainly an alcoholic. And ‘best friends’ Natalie and Sara, who had each babysat her at some point, were very clearly in a relationship. It was fascinating really, to be reliving this evening with a new and more mature perspective.

But then she saw Mr Timpsin give Mrs Timpsin a quick kiss and her 9-year-old brain kicked off in a wave of embarrassed giggling.

Hermione nervously smoothed her dress. It _was_ a pretty dress, but wearing it she looked a lot smarter than the other children at the party, who had mostly come in jeans and t-shirts. They had all been dropped off in the Timpsin’s very large living room for the ‘Kiddies Party’, while their parents gathered for drinks in the heavily polished kitchen, and Natalie and Sara escaped upstairs. A film had been stuck on the TV for them, but the guests of the ‘Kiddies Party’ were currently absorbed in a deadly game of dodgeball, using whatever they could get their hands on to throw at each other. They shrieked and clambered over the furniture, leaving footprints that Mrs Timpsin will definitely bemoan in the morning. Hermione stuck to her corner of the room, ducking to narrowly avoid a cushion that came flying her way.

There was a part of her, the almost 14-year-old part of her, that was viewing the party with a sort of detachment. This was a memory, she told herself, and she was merely a spectator to the madness, one who had seen it all before.

But then she would slip into the moment, which pulled her like a tidal wave deep into the past, making it her present. 9-year-old Hermione still stood on the outskirts of the party, but not as a detached spectator. 9-year-old Hermione wistfully watched the other kids, feeling a familiar tug in her chest. 9-year-old Hermione wished to join in, but what if they laughed at her? What if they didn’t want her around? What if she wasn’t any fun?

The line between past and present wasn’t just blurring, it had broken completely, sending the concerns and anxieties of 9-year-old Hermione crashing into her own mind. They suddenly became so important to her, as freshly crushing as they had been over 4 years ago, that it was easy in that moment to think that maybe the future had all been a dream…

And then Billy O’Neill belched loudly, reminding Hermione just how much older she was. She rolled her eyes at their antics, feeling momentarily superior. But this was how her younger self had behaved as well. That was why people thought of her as stuck-up, and bossy, and dull…

It would be easier, she hoped, to manage the befuddled mess of past and present once she found Harry and Ron. Easier to stay afloat, to remember herself. She just hoped they hadn’t forgotten her.

She had never been good at making friends. She sometimes wondered if she ever would have had Harry and Ron not rescued her from that troll. It was strange really, that almost being crushed by a troll turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to her. Though if she really was stuck repeating her past she hoped she wouldn’t have to go through _that_ again, but it would be worth it to have her friends back.

That morning, once she had gathered her bearings, she had jumped into action. To ensure her parents wouldn’t disturb her with questions that she couldn’t answer she picked out a book from her shelf to place by her side, so that if they came into her room she could quickly grab it and pretend to be absorbed in reading. Then she set about writing a letter. She had to think fast. It was New Year’s Eve, so the post office would be closing early. Without an owl she had no other way to send her friends a message, and she wanted to get a reply with as much immediacy as possible.

The question was, who was she to send the letter to? She didn’t have a postal address for Ron. Mrs Weasley had said the muggle postman probably didn’t even know where their house was. When she could count on Ron to send Errol to her this hadn’t been a problem, but now it was a huge inconvenience. Hermione then thought to write to Harry. But, her heart sank as she realised, his relatives probably wouldn’t let him open the letter. They would read it first, and any mention of magic would see the letter confiscated before Harry could get a look in. Besides, Harry also had no way of contacting the wizarding world, and this was an emergency. It would be advisable, Hermione reasoned, to get an adult. But not only did she not have any adult wizard’s address, there was also the question of how to get that adult to believe her.

An idea clicked. Hermione quickly composed the letter in her head, going over the best way to word it in case the recipient had no idea what she was talking about, and scribbled it down. No time for neat handwriting. Tucking the letter into her pocket she crept softly down the stairs and peered into the kitchen. Mum had been called into work to deal with an emergency toothache, leaving Dad busy preparing a very complicated looking trifle to bring to the Timpsin’s party later. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice her absence.

Hermione slipped out the front door, made her way to the garden gate, and then stopped. Her hand stilled on the latch. She glanced uncertainly down the street. The more she looked at it, the more the street seemed to lengthen; the corner at the end of it stretching further and further into the distance. She knew the way to the post office, it was no more than 2 minutes on foot, but… Hermione frowned as her hand clenched the gate. Surely she had been out on her own before at this age? Hadn’t she? Maybe not, now she came to think of it. Hermione made a mental note to have a very serious conversation with her parents about this. Plenty of kids her age walked to school on their own. A quick walk to the post office shouldn’t be scaring her. Or maybe it was the sneaking out without permission? Dad would be worried if he went upstairs and found her missing, and he would be very disappointed in her-

This was ridiculous. Older Hermione pushed herself through the gate, fuming. She had faced three-headed dogs and dementors, broken about a dozen school rules that could have gotten her expelled, she could walk to the bloody post office. And she could face a room full of shrieking kids. She wasn’t 9-year-old friendless Hermione anymore. She was 13, almost 14, and she had friends who needed her.

And they all needed an adult who could help them fix this, as soon as possible. Because Hermione realised another very important thing as she stood at the gate, and later as she sat at the edge of the party. It was dangerously easy to slip into the past, and to lose yourself there.


	5. Aunt Marge's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things at Privet Drive take a turn for the worse, as they are wont to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you get when you accidentally slam a window down on your finger? A solid excuse to procrastinate! I can type again so here's Harry having a miserable time in Privet Drive :( Neville's chapter is next, it's mostly finished and I plan to have it up sometime this weekend. Again, so sorry for the wait! Enjoy!

“Clear these plates boy” Uncle Vernon barked.

Harry scrambled up and wedged his way around the table, uncomfortably aware of Aunt Marge’s eyes on him. The day had gone by in pretty much the same vein as all of Aunt Marge’s visits. After calling for her nephy-poo she’d bustled into the Dursley house, Ripper close at her heels, and set about making her presence known. Dudley hurried forward to receive his usual £20 note and Aunt Petunia put on her usual exclamation of delight that sounded as though she was surprised to see her.

Harry had tried to linger on the stairs as long as possible, still trying to wrap his head around the situation, but Uncle Vernon had caught him. Grabbing him by the arm he had pulled him roughly into the kitchen to say hello and suffer Aunt Marge’s opinions on how runty and mean-looking Harry was. She hadn’t really gone to town on him yet, but dinner was almost over and she was on her fourth glass of wine. It was only a matter of time now. Of all the days in the past to wake up in, why did it have to be this one?

Ripper growled at Harry as he passed with the dishes, taking great care not to tread on his paws. He had no desire to be chased up a tree again. Aunt Marge’s bulldogs were the reason Harry used to feel uncomfortable around dogs, until he met Fang. What would he give for Hagrid to barge in right now, bearing his pink umbrella like a sword, and take him away again. It would be a welcome escape from what felt like an extremely intense nightmare. Maybe it was just the horror of being returned to the past, but the colours and smells of Privet Drive felt more intrusive somehow. The floral tablecloth and salmon pink walls seemed brighter, Aunt Petunia’s spotless surfaces gleamed harsher. Her preparations for Aunt Marge’s visit had left a cloying scent of lavender and cleaning bleach that made him want to gag. Despite the smell, Harry stayed in the kitchen as long as he dared, having no desire to go in and listen to Uncle Vernon’s joke about an Englishman, a Scotsman and a Chinaman who walk into a bar…

That was the worst thing about the situation. His uncle seemed scarier to him now. At first Harry thought it was just because he was small again. Everything was bigger now. He’d sat down at the table for dinner to find that his feet no longer reached the floor. So at first he reasoned that Uncle Vernon just seemed bigger now too.

Except it was more than that. Throughout the day Harry noticed small differences in the way his uncle acted around him. When he yanked him from the stairs, sending him roughly into the banisters in the process. When he accompanied his orders to bring Aunt Marge’s bags upstairs with a swipe at Harry's head that he didn't manage to duck. When Harry had entered the dining room ahead of him and Uncle Vernon had shoved him forwards. Even the Uncle Vernon who had put bars on his windows hadn’t been so casually rough with Harry.

Harry returned to the dining room and watched his relatives from the door. Aunt Petunia was fussing over Dudley’s bow-tie while Aunt Marge guffawed at Uncle Vernon’s joke, her many chins wobbling. Uncle Vernon sat at the head of the table, reclining in his chair with his hands rested satisfactorily on his stomach. Seeing the grin on his face, Harry realised what had changed. Ever since Harry had got his letter from Hogwarts, Uncle Vernon had been afraid. And not necessarily of Harry and his magic. Of the wizards who seemed to know his every move. Of giants who break down the front door and give his son a pig’s tail. Of flying cars in the middle of the night. His Uncle had, to an extent, started to fear repercussions from wizards. He’d started to lay off Harry, so long as Harry didn’t cross the line.

Now the line had changed. Harry was crossing it by just existing.

“Are you deaf boy? Help your aunt bring in the plates for dessert”.

This Uncle was not afraid. He was content and confident as the King of his little castle in Little Whinging. And Harry was back to being his favourite fly to swat at.

As Harry carefully set the dessert plates down Aunt Marge decided she was long overdue for her favourite past-time. She set her hungry eyes on him, face flushed red with wine. “Have you considered Vernon” she began, “that the boy could be mentally retarded? Standing there gormless by the door, almost as though he couldn’t hear you”.

A part of Harry inwardly scoffed at the irony of Aunt Marge’s comment, calling him gormless while her ‘Dudders’ had spent dinner barely paying attention to his surroundings. His aunt and parents fawning over him were only distractions from the food. However, to Harry’s alarm, another part of him inwardly flinched at her words.

“If he is there’s not much to be done about it” Uncle Vernon said, eyeing Harry nastily. “Petunia tells me his teacher has declared him a lost cause”.

Harry’s teacher that year had been one of Aunt Petunia’s friends from her book club, who had been completely oblivious to the fact that Dudley was stealing Harry’s homework to pass off as his own. Harry didn’t say anything, but felt his face burning.

There was a brief respite from the conversation as Aunt Petunia proudly brought in her cake from the kitchen. It looked horribly similar to the sugared violets pudding she'd made, or rather will make, for the Masons in 3 years time. But complimenting Aunt Petunia’s frosting could only hold Aunt Marge’s attention for so long.

“I suppose it comes from the father” she drawled, spooning herself another helping of whipped cream. As ever with Aunt Marge, it all came back to breeding. “He was unemployed, didn’t you say?”

“Yes” Aunt Petunia said quickly, dismayed as always at Harry’s parents being brought up in conversation. “Yes, he was unemployed”.

“Do make sure to not blame yourselves if the boy turns out the same way” Aunt Marge continued, patting Aunt Petunia’s hand. “You can’t change things if a child is born a certain way. Educate him, civilise him all you wish, but if there’s no hope for the father then there is no hope for his spawn”.

Harry stared down at his plate, leaving the tiny slice of cake he’d been permitted untouched. It was unnerving, how deeply Aunt Marge’s words seemed to cut him. The last time he’d been forced to endure Aunt Marge, the time he’d sent her floating like a grotesque balloon up to the ceiling (oh how he yearned to do _that_ again) he’d been furious at the lies and insults coming from her mouth. Hearing her vile words now he was still angry, but also, alarmingly, ashamed.

After years of hearing other wizards singing his parents’ praises, of feeling a warm glow of pride at being likened to them, he’d forgotten just how much he’d once absorbed the Dursley’s lies. Even once he grew old enough to know better, to no longer desire the approval of the sort of people who would place _Dudley_ on a pedestal, he couldn’t escape the shame that twisted in his chest whenever his parents were mentioned. It hadn’t helped that everyone at school, both children and teachers, knew Harry Potter as the boy whose drunken parents had got themselves killed in a car crash. Dudley had particularly enjoyed spreading _that_ story.

That his younger self was feeling that old shame now, despite knowing the truth, was unsettling. Harry tried instead to focus on his anger, flickering dimly in the corner of his mind. Right now that anger felt like a lifeline to his older self.

Unfortunately the angrier he got, the more Aunt Marge turned her attention to him. Harry tried to ignore her, desperately wishing for this day to be over, to get out of this house, to get back to his own bloody time-

The time came, once the cake was finished, for presents. Aunt Marge had gotten Dudley a very large Christmas present of course, but now it was time for a _New Year’s Eve_ present. Harry knew he’d gotten a present as well. Aunt Marge would not miss the chance to humiliate him, to make him feel jealous of Dudley. He remembered this day, this present, all too well. Younger Harry had been expecting it. But he’d still shrivelled in shame at the gift.

_She’s just an evil cow_, he told himself. _It doesn’t matter. Nothing she does matters_. But then he pulled back the wrapping paper and saw the box of dog treats. And the shame, the humiliation, the jealousy, all hit him like a tonne of bricks, crushing him under their weight. Harry felt himself trembling. He looked up from the dog treats, to see the satisfied look on Aunt Marge’s face, the glare from his Uncle Vernon, daring him to complain, and he knew he was supposed to say thank you and act like he was grateful, he was supposed to say thank you, and they were so much _bigger_ than he remembered…

Panic rose in his throat again at the idea of the future being a dream. His hands itched wildly for his wand. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t stay here. He had to get back to his own time, it had to have been real. He tightened his grip on the box of dog treats, his mind burning white hot. It had to be real. It had to be real. It had to-

The dog treats flew out of his hands with the force of a gunshot and slammed against the wall.

Silence fell on the Dursley household. Four pairs of eyes looked at him. Dudley glanced up in bewilderment from his new robot dog. Aunt Marge and Petunia looked scandalised, mouths open in shock. An eternity seemed to pass before the silence broke. Harry felt Aunt Petunia grab his arm and twist it, scolding him while Aunt Marge’s voice ranted in the distance, raging about how Harry was ungrateful and needed discipline. Harry barely registered it. He was watching his Uncle Vernon.

Uncle Vernon was gripping the back of his chair, his knuckles white and poking out of his large pink hands. He was staring at Harry in horror. Harry felt his gut plunge. His uncle had seen him use magic.


	6. Neville The Rebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This party was worse than Neville remembered. He hated it then, and he hated it now.
> 
> Neville wakes up in the past and finds himself at a New Year's Eve party at Malfoy Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neville deserves the world. That is all.

This party was worse than Neville remembered. He hated it then, and he hated it now.

Malfoy Manor’s large drawing room had been cleared of the usual furniture and filled with round tables. Malfoy’s guests congregated under the large crystal chandelier in their dress robes, their Board of Governor pins glinting on their chests. Garlands of white roses lined the deep purple walls, where Malfoy’s ancestors watched the party from their ornate silver frames. There was silver everywhere in the room. Silver plates, silver vases, silver chalices encrusted with emeralds that winked at him like green eyes in the candlelight. Neville knew that the Malfoys had purposefully moved ornaments from elsewhere in the manor just to have them on display, such as the marble statue of Armand Malfoy that he’d seen before standing in the hallway.

Lucius Malfoy himself was stood by the large marble fireplace at the head of the room, his wife Narcissa on his arm. They were in conversation with fellow Board members Marius Nott and Indira Shah. Aside from greeting Neville and his grandmother at the door when they arrived, with a long glance at Neville that made him feel like a fly under a magnifying glass, they mostly kept their distance from Neville during the party. However Augusta Longbottom, as a senior Board member, would be sat at the same table as them.

Neville had hoped, a few years ago, that when his grandmother retired from the Board of Governors they would finally stop coming to these parties, which Lucius Malfoy insisted on hosting every year. Going to school with Draco Malfoy was bad enough, without having to put up with him during the holidays too. But the other retired members kept attending, therefore so did his grandmother.

Last New Year’s Eve, following Lucius Malfoy’s sacking from the Board, had been liberating. They still went to a party, ran by another stuffy member of the Board, but it wasn’t at Malfoy Manor and there were no Malfoys in sight. Neville was finally free.

And then time travel apparently happened. And here he was.

Aside from Draco Malfoy, there were four other children his age at the party. Two from his own year, Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott. And two he recognised from the year below, Ian Harper and Purnima Shah. All of whom, he noted, would eventually be sorted into Slytherin.

All of whom, therefore, join in when Malfoy calls him a squib.

He remembered how this night had played out last time around just as it began to play out again, with his grandmother pushing him to join the others at the children’s table.

“Come on now Neville” his grandmother tutted disparagingly. “You can’t cling to me all night at your age, they’ll make fun of you”.

Her words sounded like an echo of a script they’d performed four years ago, and Neville heard himself mumble his next line in response: “They make fun of me anyway”.

“Well don’t _let_ them make fun of you” his grandmother said, as though it was as simple as that. “Your father would have stood up for himself”.

Neville felt a sting at his grandmother’s comment about his father, which pinched him just as sharply as it had last time. As it did every time. As he approached the children’s table Neville tried telling himself that this time it would play out differently, that now he had four years on Malfoy, that he wasn’t going to be bullied by someone _four years younger than him-_

“Wizards only” Malfoy called out nastily as Neville reached for a seat. Around him the other kids sniggered.

“Wha- what do you mean?” asked Neville, trying to keep his voice steady. He could almost hear his grandmother’s voice scolding him. _He’s four years younger than you. Four years. Get a grip._

“Wh-wh-what do you mean?” Malfoy put on a high, whimpering voice, and smirked. “I mean everyone here can do magic” he explained, gesturing to the other kids at the table. “No squibs allowed”.

“I’m not- my magic is just late” Neville protested weakly, feeling his face start to burn with shame. _What are you ashamed about? You know you’re a wizard! You’re from the future!_

“The baby’s table is other there then!” interjected Pansy excitedly, pointing to the other end of the table where her little sister sat, next to another toddler who had food smeared over his face.

Neville knew he should just sit down. He should tell them to go stuff themselves and just take a seat. But Neville felt his eyes go hot and realised he was about to cry. Turning away rapidly Neville made his way to the corner of the party, weaving his way through the guests and trying to ignore the jeers behind him. There was a window-sill half-concealed by the statue of Armand Malfoy, and he glumly took refuge there. Outside a ghostly white peacock strutted across the dark lawn. Neville leaned his forehead against the window and watched the bird, his breath steaming up the glass.

Being four years older didn’t do him much good. He was still small, and pudgy, and timid. And he was still all those things in the future. Tears began to leak down his face. Neville wiped them quickly on his sleeve, the shame swelling like a balloon in his chest. He hated it. He hated being small. He hated being weak. He hated being a coward. What had those years even been for?

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Neville turned to see his grandmother had followed him, disappointment etched into the lines of her face.

“This is ridiculous Neville. Stop crying in front of everyone” she said sternly. Behind her he could see Narcissa Malfoy whispering to Indira Shah, clearly about him. He could make out the halfhearted pity on her face.

His heart began to thump loudly in his chest. In that moment he felt an overwhelming urge to beg his grandmother for them to just go home. She never admitted it, but Neville knew his grandmother didn’t enjoy spending New Year’s Eve at Malfoy Manor. He didn’t understand why she insisted on doing it anyway. Why did she do it every year, why did she shake hands with the woman whose sister had tortured her son and daughter-in-law?

He could hear his grandmother talking, reprimanding him for letting the other children intimidate him. Her hand on his back was guiding him out of the room and into the corridor away from party, and he heard the words ‘panic attack’. Was that what the pounding in his chest was?

Of course, this grandmother didn’t know just how torturous it was for him to be here. At this age, in this body, he’d visited his parents in St Mungo’s many times, seen their distant, unrecognising eyes, but he hadn’t known who had put them there. He hadn’t known the reason behind the odd pitied look Narcissa gave him every year, the concealed-satisfied look from Lucius, the mutterings from the other Board members. Grandmother had only told him when he started Hogwarts. So Neville couldn’t really be resentful of _this_ grandmother for making him come to _this_ party. But his grandmother in the future had still made him come even after he learned the truth.

The pounding in his chest wasn’t a panic attack. It was anger, Neville realised. He was _angry at his grandmother._

“Why do we have to be here?” he whispered. His grandmother sighed.

“Enough of this Neville. I don’t want to hear anymore-”

“No” Neville burst out. “Why do we have to be here? Why do we have to come here and pretend to be friends with them?” The pounding raged faster in his chest, and he heard his voice getting louder. “Why do we have to go along with it when they act like they’re sorry, like we’re not going to visit Mum and Dad in the hospital tomorrow knowing who did it? I’m sick of it! I hate being here!”

Neville was breathing very fast. He looked at his grandmother, chest heaving. She’d fallen unusually silent, and was staring at him in surprise. _Shit_. Neville had yelled at his grandmother. He’d _never_ yelled at his grandmother before.

He took a step back, watching her reaction hesitantly. There was an odd expression in her eyes. He braced himself for his grandmother to scold him, to ask him how he found out. Instead his grandmother started blinking rapidly.

Neville felt the world fall out from under his feet. _Was his grandmother crying?_ Before he could think of what to say or do his grandmother composed herself and met his gaze with an unfamiliar expression. Her face was stern but… softer somehow.

“We are here because this is an event for members of the Board” she said firmly. “I’m not hiding my face from the likes of Malfoy”. His grandmother gently put her hand on his shoulder, and continued determinedly. “I’m not going to be the one who budges, and I’m definitely not going to let him or Narcissa get comfortable. Do you understand?”

Neville gaped at his grandmother. He closed his mouth and nodded. “Yes” he said. “I understand”.

She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and without another word turned around to re-join the party. Neville hesitated a moment before following her. He glanced around the elegantly decorated hall. The garlands of roses. The sparkling chandelier. The table groaning under the weight of elaborate puddings and cakes. The Malfoys had spared no expense for this party. Later there was going to be the very expensive annual firework display, which broke several Statute of Secrecy laws. Lucius Malfoy always hired a team of Ministry Obliviators specially for the occasion.

Draco Malfoy and the other children of the Board were still sat at the children’s table, helping themselves to cake. Neville made his way over to them, stopping at the dessert table. Delicately frosted cupcakes were displayed on a spiralled stand, decorated with white roses that matched the garlands. Neville grabbed a cupcake from the top and continued on to Malfoy, who appeared to still be doing an impersonation of him. Theodore Nott nudged Malfoy as he approached, and an evil grin spread across Malfoy’s face.

“Finished crying Longarse?”

Younger Neville flinched and wanted to run away again. Older Neville stopped, and looked at Malfoy. The boy who delighted in tormenting him, both at and away from Hogwarts. A different voice came to him, one he recognised as Professor Lupin’s. _Imagine Malfoy in your grandmother’s clothes._

Neville smiled. It truly was a beautiful picture.

“What are you smiling at, Longarse?” sneered Malfoy.

“These cakes” Neville answered, holding up the one in his hand. “The flowers on them are really pretty, aren’t they?”

“The flowers are really pretty?” Malfoy’s voice cracked with mirth. “Aw, you like the pretty little flowers don’t you Longarse? You-”

Neville silenced him by smearing the cake in his face.

As he turned away, he caught eye contact with his grandmother. She stared at him in bewilderment for a moment, then a small smirk made its way across her lips. Nodding her approval, she raised her glass to him, then took a satisfied sip. Neville smiled back, and plucked himself another icing flower from the cake stand. This party was better than he remembered.


	7. The Rat in the Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Ginny hunt for Scabbers and I overuse chess metaphors, because Rowling seemed to forget about Ron being a chess-whiz and I still have a grudge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a stressful time for everyone, so stay safe, stay inside and have some fanfiction!

The warm feeling Ron felt while watching his family at breakfast had completely evaporated. At lunch he couldn’t taste any of the food Mum put in front of him. He squirmed uneasily in his seat, unable to hear what anyone at the table was saying either. The only thing that registered was the presence of a Death Eater somewhere in his house. Ron had no idea how he hadn’t felt it all those years. Now it was all he felt. The rat clung like a poison in every room. Watching his family. Listening for scraps of information. Biding his time…

They had spent the morning looking for him. Ron placed a very confused Ginny as guard by the door and quickly scoured Percy’s room, making no effort not to leave a mess. Realising Ginny could only go so long without an explanation, he had then quickly taken her outside, hopefully far away from Scabbers. Shivering by the chicken coop, he explained the whole story to her in a low whisper. Even though he’d double and triple-checked the area first, Ron could not shake the feeling that he was being watched.

After her scare over Riddle that morning, Ron was worried at first about how Ginny would handle the revelation that Scabbers had been one of You-Know-Who’s followers the whole time. Ginny had paled as Ron told her, and started to tremble slightly as she looked back at their home. But then a determined glint sparked in her eye, and she grimly suggested splitting up. He and Ginny had taken the ground floor and the attic respectively and worked their way to meet in the middle, scouring under beds, behind cupboards and inside drawers. Ron wondered if Scabbers had just fallen asleep somewhere or if he was hiding from them. He desperately hoped it was the former. What if Pettigrew had noticed the two younger Weasley children acting strangely, and decided to follow and listen in?

Ron tried to think of it as a game of chess. Don’t let your opponent guess your next move. Draw his attention away so he doesn’t see the trap. He told himself he needed to act casual in his search, so anyone watching wouldn’t get suspicious. Except Ron felt horribly like he’d lost control of both his mind and body. He was clumsier, smaller and worst of all he couldn’t seem to shut up. When Charlie asked him why he was looking for Scabbers Ron found himself very loudly blurting out that the twins had offered to show him a spell that would turn Scabbers yellow.

It was all wrong. His voice was too high, too loud. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too late, that Scabbers was already on to them. The panic was pounding in his chest, clinging to his throat. What if Pettigrew had noticed something was wrong? What if he’d already overheard how much they knew? What would he do if he found out his cover was blown? Run away? Or murder them in their sleep? Why not? He _was_ a mass-murderer. He’d blown up a street full of muggles – _oh fuck they were definitely going to get murdered-_

“Ron” Ginny hissed. “Are you even listening?”

They were now in the kitchen. Their fruitless search had been cut short when Mum called them down for lunch. Much to her surprise, the two of them volunteered to do the dishes. Ron guessed at her reaction that he and Ginny were at an age when Mum hadn’t really started asking them to help out around the house yet, aside from tidying their rooms. Fred and George had of course teased them for being ‘sweet lickle angels’.

“You might want to follow their example” Mum had snapped at the twins. “You two can come with me now to the village and help with the groceries”.

That left Ron and Ginny with the kitchen to themselves. As far as they knew anyway. Even with the tap running, while taking care to make as much noise cleaning the dishes as possible, they didn’t dare speak above a whisper.

“What are we going to do about Scabbers when we find him?” Ginny asked quietly, glancing over her shoulder. “What if we say to Dad that we think Scabbers is sick? We could ask him to check him over, or bring him to Diagon Alley”

“We showed him to the woman at the Magical Menagerie last year. She didn’t notice anything off about him.” Ron muttered back. He reached out and clumsily turned the tap more, sending the water spraying louder and soaking his sleeve. “Maybe if we wrote to Lupin…”

“How would we explain it?”

“We could tell him things we couldn’t otherwise know” Ron suggested slowly. “He told us the story about how they became animaguses, I mean animagi, if we give him details, he might believe that we actually time travelled”.

“Now we just need to wait for Errol to come back” Ginny said miserably.

Mum had insisted on sending Errol with a letter and package to Bill, who was spending New Years with his friends in Egypt. Even though he’d only just been home for Christmas.

Ron groaned. “Errol won’t be back for over a week!” If only Percy had Hermes. Not that he’d let them borrow him.

Ginny glanced out the window, as though doing so might make Errol magically appear, and sighed. “I don’t think we have any other choice”.

“The longer we wait, the longer Sirius is in Azkaban, and the longer Harry is stuck with the Dursleys!” Ron roughly threw the bowl he was washing into the sink in frustration, sending water splashing onto Ginny.

“Ron!” Ginny hit him with the towel and hissed. “Keep your voice down!”

Ron put his fists on the counter and leaned over, trying to slow his breathing. “I’m sorry” he whispered. “I just- I just wish we could talk to them. Harry and Hermione”. What would he give right now even for Hermione’s ugly squashed-nosed cat. “Hermione would have a plan, and Harry-”

Ron stopped. “Dad!” he called excitedly. “Dad!” Ron ran out of the kitchen, leaving Ginny alone with the dishes. He heard her grumbling as she followed him outside. Ron tore past the chicken coop and towards Dad’s shed, bursting through the door. The car they’d crashed into the Whomping Willow wasn’t there yet, but Dad’s many other muggle gadgets were. The shelves were cluttered with light bulbs, rubbery strings called ‘wires’, and a few broken muggle boxes that Hermione called ‘tellies’. Dad was sat at his workbench, fiddling with a muggle radio.

Ron and Ginny ran up to him, breathless. “Dad!” Ron asked. “Do you have a fellytone?”

“Yeah!” Ginny piped up, catching on. “Do you have one in your shed?”

Dad blinked, looking at Ron and Ginny in surprise. “Why yes, I do actually! Want to take a look?”

“Yes!”

Delighted by their sudden enthusiasm, Dad led them to the back of the shed, where his muggle generator hummed quietly. Ron remembered the day he’d brought it home with him, eyes shining in excitement as his colleague Perkins helped him carry it into the shed. Mum had spent the next two weeks bringing his meals into the shed while he tried to get it to work. Hooked up to it with those rubber stings was the fellytone Ron had used two summers ago. He hoped Dad had got it working.

“How do you use it?” Ginny asked eagerly, reaching to examine the handset.

“Well” Dad began. “Every phone has its own number. See these buttons here? You put in the number of the phone belonging to the person you want to talk to, and then you talk to them through that handset. Look, you talk to them through this end, and listen through this end! Ingenious isn’t it?”

Dad smiled widely as he asked the question, his eyes gleaming at the thought of his two youngest children sharing his passion for muggle gadgets. In his relief, Ron barely even had to pretend.

“Brilliant!” beamed Ginny.

“It’s really clever Dad” Ron added. “Does it work? I mean, could we actually use this to call someone?”

Dad shook his head sadly and Ron’s heart sank. “Unfortunately, while I’m pretty sure I’ve got it working-” Ron’s heart rose up again hopefully “-we don’t know anyone with a fellytone to test it out on. But look over here, this is a muggle telly-”

Ron and Ginny grinned at each other as Dad started talking them through the telly. “We’ll call Harry tomorrow morning” he whispered to Ginny, as Dad lifted the heavy box over to the generator to attach it. “Mum and Dad will be hungover by then”. And hopefully so would the muggles.

As Dad gave them a tour of his workshop Ron couldn’t help but feel an impatient itch to get back to the house and their search for Pettigrew, but the panic was subdued somewhat. The fact that tomorrow he would speak to his friends lifted a heavy weight off his chest. And there was something else as well. For years Ron and all his siblings had, well, laughed a bit at Dad’s obsession with muggles. Some of it was interesting, but when he went on about it they usually responded by rolling their eyes. But watching Dad demonstrate how to use a Polaroid camera to Ginny, shaking the photo to make the picture emerge – “completely without magic!” – and he had to admit he was having fun. Ginny herself seemed lost in the moment, looking more carefree than he’d seen her since… well, since Riddle. And was it just him or did the gadgets cluttered around the workshop suddenly look very fun to play with…

Dad was just unfolding a table with a small netting down the middle – “Now the muggles call this game Pong Ping” – when the sound of Mum’s voice calling them inside jerked Ron awake. Ginny glanced at him in alarm. They both seemed to remember the seriousness of the situation, of the Death Eater still hiding in their house, at the same time. It was as though a cloud of giddiness had descended upon them in the workshop, that Mum’s voice had abruptly banished.

They entered the kitchen to see Mum with her hands on her hips, Percy glaring at them from behind her at the kitchen table. Charlie and the twins were there too, looking thoroughly entertained. Ron and Ginny stopped in their tracks, bracing themselves…

“Were you two playing in Percy’s room?” Mum asked them sternly.

“No?” Ginny said innocently.

Percy huffed. “Well _someone_ was in there, and it’s a mess. My things are all over the place-”.

“It was probably Fred and George” Ron reasoned sagely.

“Oi!” The twins protested. “We have alibis dear Ronniekins”.

“I sent the twins with Percy to help Mr Lovegood de-Doxy his attic this morning” Mum said in exasperation. “And this afternoon they were with me. I am extremely disappointed in the two of you, how would you like it if your brothers went through your things and made a mess-”

Beside him Ron heard Ginny gasp quietly. She nudged him. Ron glanced behind Mum at Percy and saw in his hands-

“-you will go upstairs right now and clean Percy’s room for him-”

“Where did you find Scabbers?” Ron blurted out. He realised his mistake a moment too late. A voice in his head screamed at him for making it so obvious, but his brain still felt like it was waking up.

“Is that what the mess in my room is about?” Percy demanded angrily, and Charlie started laughing.

“I knew it, they were looking for him earlier” he grinned. “He was asleep under the sink, we found him when we had to do the dishes that you two _abandoned_-”

Ron felt the air escape his lungs. He tried to join in the ensuing argument about the dishes, tried to look anywhere but at the rat in Percy’s hands, but every inch of him screamed that it was far far too late. Pettigrew had heard. He had heard everything. He knew.

Ron wasn’t in control of the chess board at all. He’d already blundered into it, losing every advantage he had. Now he had to scramble to protect a King that was probably already in check.


	8. The Cupboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry deals with the fallout of his magical outburst and makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe. A warning to anyone who finds the subject matter too upsetting, the Dursley's abuse escalates in this chapter in response to Harry revealing his magic, but this chapter only depicts the aftermath. This is not a happy chapter for Harry, but I promise that one day I will write a happy chapter for him!

The summer Uncle Vernon placed bars on his bedroom window Harry had thought things at the Dursleys had gotten as bad as they could possibly get. Now, locked in his cupboard with an aching back, Harry found himself thinking longingly of that summer.

After his outburst Marge had gone into her speech decrying ‘wishy washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it’. Harry tuned her out, eyes glued to his uncle in horror. Uncle Vernon had punished him before for doing magic, locking him in his cupboard whenever something out of the ordinary happened. But back then Harry hadn’t even known he was doing magic. Uncle Vernon certainly had never _seen_ Harry do anything. But now he had seen. And he knew that Harry knew. And now fear was simmering behind his bulging eyes. Fear and rage.

“It had become a bit less acceptable by the time Vernon was born” Aunt Marge’s voice rang out. “But I remember, people had a lot less qualms about giving a good belting when it was needed”.

Uncle Vernon had been rough with Harry before. Sometimes Harry wondered if the reason he had such good reflexes as a Seeker was the years of dodging his Uncle when he got angry. But he’d never hit him like _that_ – never with a belt.

A throb shot up his back and Harry stifled a whimper. They had all _watched_. Aunt Petunia had gone pale at first when she saw the belt in Uncle Vernon’s hand. For a moment Harry dared to hope she might say something to put a stop to it. Even Dudley seemed a little shaken when he realised what was about to happen. But Aunt Marge looked smug and was staring at her brother expectantly, and they all said nothing.

When it was over Vernon shoved him towards his cupboard, and hissed in his ear: “I’ve been too soft with you, you ungrateful abomination. No more of that, you mark my words boy, no more of that”. The lock clicked shut, and Harry was plunged into darkness.

Harry trembled. He could see the next two years ahead of him, what his life at Privet Drive would be like if he stayed here. There was no doubt, this Uncle Vernon would spend the next two years trying to beat the magic out of him. Two years before Hagrid would come and knock the door down. Harry wouldn’t last two years.

It felt like so long ago that he had last been truly afraid of his Uncle. Before he could be reasonably sure that there were certain lines his uncle wouldn’t cross. He’d come close after the Aunt Marge incident last year, hands reached out as though to throttle Harry. But that time Harry had his wand. The fear of getting arrested hadn’t kicked in yet, and in that moment Harry had felt his blood rushing with anger and confidence. He could have blasted Uncle Vernon back if he had wanted to. He could have hurt him. A roar in the back of his mind had yearned to. Uncle Vernon had seen the look on his nephew’s face, seen the wand, and backed away. Repercussions from other wizards or not, in that moment he wouldn’t have dared to lay a finger on Harry.

Harry had no such defence now. He’d tried, he really had. He knew he could perform some magic without his wand, his outburst had just proved that. When Uncle Vernon had grabbed his collar he struggled to summon that same power, to send his Uncle crashing into the wall just as he’d done the dog treats, to throw him _far away from him_. But it wouldn’t come. He’d been sent back into his younger body with four years’ worth of memories but no control over his magic.

No wand. No magic. No Hagrid. No Hedwig. He was stuck.

With a wince, Harry moved himself into a sitting position and stared up at the slanted ceiling beneath the stairs. He’d heard the Dursleys go up to bed about an hour ago. His eyes had started to adjust to the lack of light.

Had his cupboard always been this small? Harry stretched out his arms as far as he could on either side, pressing his hands against the walls. Surely it hadn’t always been this small? He’d gotten used to having his own room the past few years. He hadn’t enjoyed being locked in there either, but at least he could pace the floor. He barely even had space to stand up in here.

Harry’s fingers fumbled in the dark, to the shelf behind his bed. He’d kept a paper clip in here somewhere, something to pick the lock with – no, he’d nabbed it from school sometime later this year. There must be something else in here he could use, but there wasn’t enough light. The light switch was outside in the hall. Harry pressed at the door in frustration, trying to resist the impulse to kick it. It was so cramped in here. The walls seemed to be closing in on him. How had he lived in this cupboard all those years? How was he going to spend two more years in here? Two more years… his breath was getting faster. Harry pushed at the door more urgently. He had just gotten used to it, he realised, but he wasn’t used to it anymore. Memories of night upon night and day upon day of being locked in here hit him in waves and Harry felt a sob rise in his throat. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t carry on in this house. Not like this. Especially not with _this_ Uncle Vernon. A shudder ran through him. He had to get out.

He put his hand on the door again, over where he knew the lock was on the other side. Closing his eyes, he muttered _Alohomora_. Harry held his breath, waiting for the click of the lock, for the door to swing open. Nothing happened.

He should keep trying. But Harry felt his fist curl against the door and fall away, a wave of helplessness crashing over him. He wished he had his wand, he missed the familiar warmth that sparked from it when he picked it up.

Even if he got out, where would he go? His immediate thought was the Burrow. If he could get to Diagon Alley, he could find a way to get hold of some Floo Powder. Mrs Weasley wouldn’t remember him, but if Ron did… But that was the problem. He had no way of knowing if his friends had come back with him. Not for the first time that day, Harry felt a stab of panic at the thought that he was alone here, stuck in the past. Stuck in Privet Drive.

He was always going to have to return to Privet Drive in the summer, he knew that. But Privet Drive from his own timeline felt like paradise compared to right now. Harry never would have imagined he’d actually miss it. He’d been so euphoric when Sirius had given Harry the offer to live with him, when for one shining moment Harry thought he would never have to come back here again-

Harry blinked. _Sirius_. The pain in his back, the cupboard walls, his uncle snoring upstairs, all vanished at the thought of his godfather. Sirius, he remembered in horror, was still in Azkaban. It would be another four years before his escape. Two years was one thing, but four years with the dementors…

Ice crawled up his spine at the memory of them, of their rotting hands, the hollow gasping rattle from their mouths. He pictured Sirius, curled up in his cell in the shape of a black dog, desperately trying to pull away from their grasp, from their hunger, from the drowning feeling of despair they cast.

Harry clenched his fist and raised it to the door again. He had to keep trying. He had to get out, not just for his own sake, but for Sirius. He couldn’t leave Sirius in Azkaban for another second. He would get his magic back under control. He would come up with a plan to get to Diagon Alley, and get to the Burrow. To Wormtail.


	9. Checkmate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chess is more than just trying to distract your opponent. It’s also about trying to guess their next move. And planning accordingly.
> 
> Pettigrew knows Ron and Ginny are on to him. It's time to move quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only took me till Easter, but hey look its finally New Year in this fic!

As the New Year inched closer, the Weasleys gathered into the garden, shivering in the night air. The twins had cleared a small circle in the snow, where Dad and Charlie were now setting up a small firework display. Dad was fruitlessly trying to convince Charlie that they should give muggle matches a try. As they stood waiting, smirking as Mum stepped forward to confiscate the matches, Ron could feel Pettigrew’s eyes on him from the house behind them. Percy had taken Scabbers upstairs to his room so that he wouldn’t be disturbed by the noise, but Ron knew without a doubt that Pettigrew had no problem getting out of his cage. Did he stay as a rat all the time, or did he ever transform back into a human, when he knew they weren’t looking? If he looked up at Percy’s room now, would he see a man at the window?

Ginny shivered next to him, and he knew it was not just from the cold. She was probably thinking the same thing. And, like him, she was probably dreading their plan.

Ron had played out the different scenarios in his head a hundred times over. What would happen if he and Ginny just screamed that Scabbers was an Animagus? Maybe their parents would immediately leap into action, get Scabbers contained and call the Aurors. But Scabbers had been in their family for eight years. More likely they would just be confused, maybe even laugh. Maybe Pettigrew, knowing his cover was about to be blown, was ready and waiting to transform and take them by surprise, to grab one of their wands and then blast his entire family into dust the way he had that street full of muggles. Maybe, if they were lucky, the years spent disguised as a rat would leave him disorientated and out of practice. Maybe they could take that risk. Maybe not.

Dad and Charlie had lit the first spark. They shooed the eager twins away from the fireworks, and Ron felt his Dad move to stand behind him and Ginny. He looked up to see his Dad grinning down at him, and tried to smile back. His throat felt like sandpaper.

The box of fireworks ignited to cheers and whoops from the twins, sending up a fountain of crackling sparks and tiny dancing stars. It went high enough that any muggles nearby would only just about see the tip of the inferno over the hedge. Bangs of green and pink smoke released small fiery dragons, that twirled as they soared upwards before exploding into a shimmering powder.

Ron blinked away the heat and smoke as he thought once more over the plan. Chess was more than just trying to distract your opponent. It was also about trying to determine their next move. And planning accordingly. Right now they only had one certainty. Pettigrew knew that Ron and Ginny were looking for a way to blow his cover. If he just ran for it, they would still alert Lupin at the first chance they got, and then Lupin would come after him. So there was only one thing Pettigrew could do next.

They came back inside to Celestina Warbeck’s voice blaring from the radio. Mum poured out spiced pumpkin juice for them and she and Dad let Charlie have a taste of Firewhisky. As they cheered the New Year and listened to the New Year’s broadcast Ron and Ginny moved quietly to set things in place without being noticed, sidestepping the twins in their teasing of Percy. An hour passed before Mum finally insisted that it was long past time for bed, especially for Ginny.

Ron caught Ginny’s eye as they came to their bedroom doors. She nodded at him grimly, hand shaking slightly on the door handle. Ron swallowed and nodded back before entering his room. He had to get ready quickly.

The sounds of his family getting ready for bed fell away, and quiet descended upon the Burrow. Ron shifted in his hiding place, and waited. There was no risk of him drifting off to sleep that night. He couldn’t sleep if he tried.

His bedroom door slowly creaked open. Ron heard an unfamiliar tread at the doorway. It definitely wasn’t his parents or any of his brothers. He tried to keep his breathing steady.

Through the crack in his wardrobe Ron watched the shadow of a man approach his bed. In the moonlight he saw the wand in his hand. He must have stolen it from Percy’s room. Pettigrew’s other hand, with a stump where his index finger used to be, reached out towards the bed and pulled back the blankets, revealing the pile of clothes Ron had stuffed there. Ron held his breath as Pettigrew hesitated. The next thing he would do, hopefully, would be to look under the bed. But still Ron felt his trembling fingers cling tightly to the can of Doxie repellent in his hand. There was every chance that Pettigrew would think to check the wardrobe first.

To his relief Pettigrew got down on his hands and knees. Ron had crawled under there earlier with another pile of clothes and blankets, drawing in boxes behind him. It would look, he prayed, as though Ron had made an in vain attempt to conceal his hiding space. After shaping the clothes and blankets into another reasonable enough Ron-shaped mould, he’d squeezed his way up the other side of the bed.

Ron trembled as he watched Pettigrew slowly kneel down, lifting the sheet to reveal the space under the bed. Not yet, he tried to tell himself. Wait until-

Pettigrew crawled under the bed, and reached out to shift the boxes. He let out a quiet snarl of frustration as he found another pile of clothes, and made to clamber out from under the bed. NOW.

Ron burst out of the cupboard, bellowing at the top of his lungs. Pettigrew howled as he received a face-full of anti-Doxie spray, clutching his face in pain. Hearing the signal, Ginny also started screeching like a banshee from the next room. Her footsteps thundered down the hall as she banged and hammered on the others’ bedroom doors.

Ron turned on the lamp next to the wardrobe and frantically fumbled with Dad’s polaroid camera around his neck. Pettigrew swore, his eyes red and stinging. Fingers shaking violently, Ron pressed down the button on the camera and ran for it. There was no time to check if it had worked. His body lurched at the brush of Pettigrew’s fingers as he made to grab him. Every fibre of him was screaming to get himself and his family as far away from possible, away from this mad-man who had eviscerated an entire street just to avoid Azkaban.

Ginny had already made it to the kitchen, where she’d set off the remainder of the fireworks. The sound and smoke had drawn everyone downstairs. Dad was frantically attempting to put the fireworks out with his wand, covering his mouth against the smoke with the sleeve of his dressing gown. Mum pulled him away and bellowed at them all to get out quick. Terrified that Pettigrew might be following them, Ron grabbed Percy’s hand and pulled him along after him out the door, his heart still beating like a wild animal in a cage. Out in the snow he looked up at the window of his bedroom, praying that Pettigrew had decided to just run for it amidst the chaos, praying that he didn’t just blow them all up there and then, that he hadn’t just condemned his whole family to death.

Mum was screaming at Fred and George, who were shouting back that this hadn’t been them. Ron eyes fell to door, half-expecting Pettigrew to emerge from the smoke with Percy’s wand drawn. He jumped as Ginny clamped her hand on his shoulder and grabbed the camera.

“Did you get it?” she asked breathlessly.

The polaroid had come out. Ron tugged it free. _Please please don’t let the smoke have damaged it_.

The picture was emerging. Ron and Ginny each took a corner, holding it up against the light from their home so they could see.

“We got him” Ron whispered. “_We got him_”.


	10. A Disastrous Phone Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione takes a chance at ringing Harry – hopefully the Dursleys are still asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter guys!

As she said goodnight to her parents, who lingered downstairs for a post-party night cap, Hermione knew she wouldn’t get any sleep that night. Her thoughts were entirely on her friends, and on the letter she’d sent off that morning: when would the letter arrive, when would she get a reply, would the recipient even understand it?

She was _fairly_ certain that the future had been real, that the whole wizarding world had been real. But a niggling voice in the back of her mind refused to let her rest easy. She could wait till she got a reply. But that could take days.

Hermione sat up in her bed, crossed the room to the armchair by her bookcase, and grabbed her old teddy. She sat back on her bed and placed the bear opposite her, frowning in concentration. When she was a very little girl, much younger than the body she was in now, she had read _Matilda_, and been enthralled by the story of a clever girl who loved to read and had the power to move things with her mind. Hermione had eagerly tried to do the same, focusing on her toys till her eyes blurred and went cross-eyed in her attempts to make them move. Finally her teddy had lifted itself into the air, hovering over her head, and she’d squealed to her parents in the next room to come see. In her lapse of concentration the teddy fell back to the floor and she was unable to do it again. Her parents had smiled, patting her on the head and praising her imagination. Before her Hogwarts letter arrived, Hermione accepted the incident as just a product of her imagination too.

If waiting for a reply wasn’t an option now, accepting that it had all been her imagination certainly wasn’t. Hermione desperately tried to concentrate on her teddy, to make it move again, to prove it was real. She made attempt after attempt after attempt. Her parents tiptoed past her door on their way to bed, and the minutes on her bedside clock ticked by, but nothing happened. Hermione sighed and threw the teddy across the room in frustration. She supposed she wasn’t really used to doing magic without a wand.

That or she was just tired. Hermione frowned and rubbed her sore eyes. It was a horrible kind of tired. One where her head felt drained and too exhausted to think clearly. But one where she was not exhausted _enough_ to just go to sleep, to slow the anxious racing of her heart. She recognised this kind of tired all too well, she had it often on the nights approaching her end of year exams. Her mind wouldn’t let her sleep, not until she was certain she’d revised enough, or till her exams were over, or, in this case, till she had proof.

So Hermione lay down in bed and stared miserably at the ceiling, glancing every now and then at the clock. The hours crawled by, but finally the shadows started to lift in her room. The sky outside her window lightened, and the sunrise crept slowly in. Stomach growling, Hermione inched herself off her bed and tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen, though there wasn’t really any risk of waking her parents. They would be having a _very_ long lie-in after last night.

Hermione chewed her toast at the kitchen table, tasting nothing, and stared at the phone. Once she figured it was a reasonable enough hour, she finally snatched it and hurriedly dialled in the number. She was trying her luck, she knew that. The Dursleys wouldn’t let her speak to Harry, but hopefully they were as fast asleep as her parents were. There was a chance then, that Harry would be able to pick up the phone. If he could hear it. Hermione’s heart tightened as the phone continued to ring. _If Harry was back too, surely he’d be listening out for the phone._

The ringing stopped. Hermione heard someone’s breath on the other end.

“Harry?” she whispered into the phone.

“Hermione?” There was hesitation in Harry’s reply, but then relief flooded his voice. “_Hermione_!”

“Oh Harry I’m so glad to hear your voice!” Hermione felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

“Me too” Harry’s voice shook a little. “I thought – bloody hell, I was so scared it was a dream! How did this happen?”

“It was something to do with Fawkes” Hermione said, thinking back. “And the Time Turner, I don’t know how though… but Harry, the Time Turner broke, I don’t know what to-”

“Boy!”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the phone. “It’s my uncle” Harry said quickly, suddenly scared. “Hermione, I’ve got to-”

Harry was cut off. A new voice came to the phone.

“Who is this?” Harry’s uncle bellowed. “Who are you?”

Hermione froze for a moment.

“I’m- I’m Hermione Granger” she squeaked. “I’m, um, a friend of Harry’s. From school”.

Vernon Dursley breathed heavily down the phone. “Do you realise what time it is?” he demanded brusquely. At least he was no longer shouting. Not as loudly anyway. “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait till you’re all back at school?”

Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. Maybe this could work. “I moved over the holidays” she said quickly. “My Dad got a job at a new dentist so we moved, but one of my books is missing and I think I might have lent it to Harry”. She figured throwing in that her parents were dentists couldn’t hurt. Harry had made it clear how his relatives felt about magic, perhaps that would help settle his uncle’s suspicions.

“You called at a godforsaken hour of the morning because you think you lent my nephew a _book_?” Vernon Dursley growled. “Well he hasn’t got your book. Don’t call again”.

The phone slammed down. But not before she heard him start shouting at Harry.

Hermione trembled. She thought she’d salvaged the situation pretty well, but she had a horrible feeling she had just gotten Harry into trouble.

She went back up the stairs and to her bed, crawling under the covers. A wave of helplessness swept over her. Harry was stuck at the Dursleys and she had no idea if her plan was going to work. All she could do was wait days for a reply. The separation from her friends, from the wizarding world, from everything, made her want to scream. It always had, whenever she returned to the Muggle world. She loved her parents, and she still had letters from her friends to keep her going over the holidays, but she always yearned to go back to Hogwarts. Even though it wasn’t completely as she had imagined it would be. She didn’t always fit in, and the past few years had forced her to realise that some people there would never believe she belonged in the wizarding world. But it was the one place she had friends. People who liked her for more than her brain.

It felt horrible to think this, but somehow her parents didn’t count. No matter how they tried to reassure her anxieties about having no friends, to convince her that the people who were worthwhile would recognise and love her no matter what, it had never felt real. It felt like something they _had_ to say, because they were her parents, and that made them biased. If she wasn’t their daughter, would they like her at all? She was intelligent, but was it enough to make up for her being bossy, and boring, and annoying, like everyone else said she was. If she didn’t have her brain, what would she have left? It was stupid of her. She _knew_ it was stupid. But she felt it all the same.

But with Harry and Ron, her parents’ reassurances went from a distant fantasy to a reality. True, they didn’t like her so much at first. They responded to her pretty much the same way the other children usually did. And the whole incident that year with the rat and the broomstick had stirred up old fears, sending Hermione into a panic that maybe the time had come, that Harry and Ron had only been putting up with her, or had tricked themselves into thinking they liked her and were now realising they didn’t. But then they’d been so ashamed. They apologised to her, hugged her when she started crying, and Ron put _so_ much work into Buckbeak’s trial afterwards to try and make it up to her.

In the muggle world she didn’t have her friends. And now she didn’t really have her parents either. How could she, when she couldn’t ask them for help? She heard the creak of her parent’s bed next door and her mum’s footsteps on the landing. They never could understand the wizarding world before, how could she possibly explain time travel?

“Hermione?” Mum popped her head in the door. “I heard you coming upstairs, you’re already up?”

With a stab of panic Hermione realised that she’d been crying. Her eyes were most definitely red. She said nothing, staying under the covers in the hopes that Mum would think she’d gone back to sleep.

“I know you’re awake sweetie” There was a familiar quiet laugh in her Mum’s voice. Hermione braced herself as Mum gently lifted up the covers. The smile fell from her face when she saw her swollen eyes. “Hermione? What’s wrong?”

_I’m a witch, I’ve travelled in time, my friend is in trouble and I have a 9-year-old brain right now and it’s all very difficult._

“Nothing”.

“Did something happen at the party?”

“No”

“Did the other children say something?”

“No”

“Sweetie please you’ve got to tell me what’s wrong, why are you crying?”

“I’m not-”

But she was crying. The tears were falling heavily down her face and it was no use pretending otherwise. Mum had her arm around her, her eyes wide in alarm and concern, her face a multitude of questions that Hermione couldn’t give an answer to, and that made Hermione cry harder.

She was lonely, Hermione realised. She’d only been back in the past for a day and she was already so lonely.

“I can’t” she heard herself sob. “I can’t Mum”.

Mum stilled beside her. Hermione inwardly cursed herself. Of course Mum would interrogate her after she said something like that! She felt Mum pull her in closer.

“Ok” Mum whispered. “Ok. You can’t right now. Don’t worry sweetie, I’m here”.

Hermione blinked in surprise through her tears. She hadn’t expected that. A part of her focused on the implication of her Mum’s words. _You can’t right now_. Meaning she’ll have to tell her eventually. Later today. That part of her moved to tell Mum that later can’t happen. A part of her resigned itself that there would be a confrontation over it.

But another part of Hermione sank into her mum, and just let her hold her. She’ll deal with it later, she decided. She can’t right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: more fun times at Privet Drive


	11. The Final Straw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Hermione’s phone call had put Uncle Vernon in a bad mood, Ron’s put him into a rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out shorter than planned, which is fitting because the next chapter turned out longer than planned, thanks for reading!

If Hermione’s phone call had put Uncle Vernon in a bad mood, dragging him out of bed while his wife, sister and son continued to sleep in, Ron’s put him into a rage.

Harry had a moment’s relief as the phone started to ring again. It drew his uncle’s attention away from him. He had decidedly _not_ been happy to come downstairs to find his nephew somehow out of his cupboard and on the phone. At first Harry was scared he would be sent back to his cupboard. The night spent in that dark, cramped space had decidedly not made him used to it again. If anything, it had intensified his discomfort. When his magic finally succeeded in opening the lock in the early hours of the morning, Harry couldn’t scramble out of his cupboard fast enough. Again, it was strange how severe his reaction to the cupboard was after four years. He’d spent half his life in there. Yet the thought of his uncle locking him in again made him feel like he was going to be sick.

Thankfully Hermione’s quick-thinking had placated Uncle Vernon somewhat. He could have kissed Hermione for coming up with a cover so perfect to enrage his uncle, that all thoughts of Harry’s magic were momentarily out of his mind as he fumed about a book Harry had supposedly been lent.

Ron’s phone call had the opposite effect. Just like his previous attempt to use the phone, Ron was shouting. Not as loud as last time, but enough that Harry could hear parts of what he was saying before his uncle slammed the phone down-

“HARRY? – I NEED TO SPEAK TO HIM – HARRY – SCABBERS-”

His uncle was yelling at him, spraying spit into his face, but Harry took no notice. His heart was roaring with excitement. Hermione and Ron were both back with him! And Ron had already started dealing with Pettigrew! He couldn’t even bring himself to conceal how happy he was, grinning broadly up at his uncle, which only served to incense him.

“THIS IS THE SECOND TIME THIS MORNING – WHO HAVE YOU BEEN TALKING TO? WHO HAVE YOU GIVEN OUR NUMBER TO? ANSWER ME BOY!”

Uncle Vernon roughly grabbed Harry’s arm, wringing it tight. Snapped back to reality by the pain, Harry struggled against his uncle’s grip.

“It’s just another kid from school” he lied, though he knew there was no way his uncle would buy it. There was no placating him now. In his euphoria at being able to open his cupboard door, at hearing his friends’ voices again, Harry had almost forgotten the line his uncle had crossed last night. He remembered with a wince the sting of the belt and began to tremble at the fury in his uncle’s eyes.

Uncle Vernon suddenly looked away from Harry, and his eyes widened. “Stop it” he hissed in alarm. “Stop it right now”.

Harry followed his uncle’s gaze in confusion, his heart beginning to pound maniacally. On the mantelpiece stood an array of ornaments: a vase painted with hydrangeas, a porcelain bulldog that had been a gift from Aunt Marge, and frame after frame containing photos of Dudley, smiling stupidly at the camera. All of them were shaking and clattering, threatening to fall off the mantelpiece.

“I’m not-” Harry stammered. “I’m not doing it on purpose”.

His uncle growled, and tightened his grip. “I said make it stop!” he snarled, a hint of panic in his voice.

The ornaments continued to rattle. Uncle Vernon started to drag Harry violently towards the cupboard, clearly hoping the cupboard door would make it stop. Harry felt a sudden lurch of claustrophobia take hold, and pulled back against his uncle. _Not in there,_ he thought desperately, the bile rising in his throat. _Please not in there. _

There was a sharp, tearing pain in his arm as Uncle Vernon yanked it harshly, and as Harry cried out a sudden shock rushed through him. His uncle let go with a loud bellow of pain and astonishment. Harry staggered back, staring at the raw red patch on Uncle Vernon’s hand. His throat went dry. His magic had burnt his uncle.

Uncle Vernon thundered his way to the kitchen, swearing loudly. Harry heard him turning on the tap to put cold water on the burn. Footsteps sounded on the landing upstairs, the rest of the house woken by the noise. Harry froze for a moment, and then ran to the kitchen. Ignoring his uncle, purple-faced and shouting by the sink, Harry grabbed Aunt Petunia’s purse on the kitchen table. He fumbled with it as he raced back to the front door, pulling out a handful of notes and throwing the bag to the side. There was no going back now.

“What’s going on Vernon?” he heard his Aunt’s voice shriek from the stairs. Ignoring her, ignoring the pain in his arm, ignoring the trouble he’ll be in if Uncle Vernon caught him, Harry tore open the door and ran for it. He ran and ran even as a stitch in his side screamed in protest, as his back throbbed painfully with the strain, as his lungs burned in his chest. He wouldn’t dare stop until Privet Drive was far behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE. ARE. LEAVING. PRIVET DRIVE.


	12. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An as of yet elusive letter makes an appearance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up tomorrow, a new POV!

“A letter for you, Master Neville”.

Penny was a young house elf, and a lot more nervous than Neville remembered. It made sense he supposed, at this point in time she had only just taken over for her mother Peggy, who was currently ill and bedridden in her and Penny’s room by the pantry. Neville had come downstairs that morning hoping to say hello to her. Peggy had long passed away in Neville’s own time, and had spent most of her final days sleeping. He remembered making her a _Get Well Soon_ card last time around. His grandmother had tutted and remarked that Neville was as ‘sentimental’ as his dad had been, and Penny had shooed him away when he tried to deliver it. “Please Master Neville, forgive my mother, I will look after her” she had squeaked. “You go play now, Master Neville”.

The situation felt wrong to Neville, now that he was back in his 9-year-old body. Why, he thought as he looked back, had Penny begged him to forgive her mother for being ill? And why would his grandmother find it odd for him to make Peggy a card? Peggy had taken care of Neville for most of his life. When he was little it was to her that Neville went when he’d had a nightmare, or if he’d wet the bed. She was a lot more patient and reassuring than his grandmother. One time she even picked out a book on plants for him from his grandmother’s library.

Penny wasn’t quite the same as Peggy. When Neville wet the bed under her watch she’d helped him with the sheets, but had then felt duty-bound to inform his grandmother. But he found an ally in her later, when Hermione started writing to him during the holidays. Hermione often helped him with his homework at Hogwarts, and offered to help him over the summer when he started panicking over his potions essay. However Neville had felt too ashamed to mention the arrangement to his grandmother, and couldn’t use her owl Dionysius without her noticing. Hermione therefore suggested using muggle mail, and to Neville’s relief and gratitude Penny agreed to help deliver the mail to the muggle post-box and keep it a secret.

Neville was therefore taken aback slightly by the familiarity of the scene, when he entered the kitchen and Penny announced he had a letter.

“It came through the letter box with the muggle mail” Penny squeaked uncertainly, holding the envelope out to him. “Usually it is just muggle flyers and I throw them out, but this was addressed to you”.

Neville felt a leap of relief as he recognised Hermione’s handwriting on the envelope. He’d hoped he wasn’t the only one sent back. And knowing Hermione she probably already had an idea of what was going on. He took the envelope excitedly, itching to get upstairs and open it.

Penny frowned. “I hope Master Neville does not mind me asking, but where did you meet this friend? How old are they?” There was an edge of concern in her voice. Neville realised what she was probably worried about.

“She’s my age” he reassured her quickly. “She’s muggleborn, that’s why she’s not using an owl. I er, I met her when Auntie Enid took me to Kew Gardens”. The lie came surprisingly easy. Kew Gardens was a place Hermione may even have actually been to. Neville was sure she’d mentioned going with her parents once. Though she probably hadn’t known about the wizard’s exhibit.

The young house elf visibly relaxed. “Oh. That is ok then”.

“Thank you Penny” Neville smiled. He turned to go back upstairs, trying hard not to run, when he guiltily remembered why he’d come down in the first place. “Um, Penny? How is your mum feeling?”

“My mother is sleeping” Penny said apologetically. “Please forgive her Master Neville, I am taking over while she’s sick, do not worry yourself-”

“Don’t worry- I didn’t mean-” Neville stammered. He felt a confused twisting in his chest. Realising Penny must be worried about her mother he clumsily added “are you doing okay Penny?”

“I am not sick, Master Neville”.

As though to illustrate her point she set about bustling around the kitchen. Neville watched her sadly, then left with his letter. Being back in his younger body was strange. Some moments seemed to be playing out exactly the same, and he slipped easily back into his old skin as though the next four years had never happened. Then there were moments like with Penny where he’d find himself looking with an older pair of eyes, and things looked so different. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen them the last time around. Hearing Penny apologising over and over again felt painful in a way it hadn’t before. But if it was just a matter of being older, did his grandmother not feel the same way?

Shaking aside his muddled thoughts, Neville turned to the letter. If anyone could make sense of the situation, it was Hermione.

Unfortunately, the letter was brief by Hermione’s standards.

_Neville, I don’t know if you remember me, and I really hope you do. If you don’t remember, explaining who I am and how I know you will take a long time, and you probably won’t believe a word of it. If you do remember, please write back to me as soon as possible. I hope you’re okay._

_But first I need you to do something for me. I’ve enclosed a letter for Remus Lupin, and its important that he gets it immediately. It says Mooney on the envelope. It’s his nickname from when he was at school, so he’ll know it’s important. He’s the only person who can help. I haven’t got an owl so I can’t send it myself. Even if you have no idea who I am or who he is, please send it._

_Please write to me to let me know that you’re okay, and please hurry._

_Lots of love,_

_Hermione Granger._

Neville frowned at the neat but hastily written words. Professor Lupin was his favourite teacher after Professor Sprout, but he wasn’t sure how he in particular could help them with time travel. Professor Dumbledore would have been a more obvious choice. Maybe Professor Lupin had been sent back as well? Except he hadn’t been in the room with them.

He wondered where Hermione had learned his nickname. Thanks to Professor Snape, it was obvious why it was ‘Mooney’. Neville glumly remembered when Professor Lupin had announced his retirement, after Snape released his secret to the entire school. Neville had felt momentarily horrified to learn that their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was a werewolf, and had flinched when he caught sight of Professor Lupin in the Entrance Hall, on his way to the front doors. He felt a nauseating wave of self-disgust at the memory. This was _Professor Lupin_. The man who had stood up for Neville when Snape humiliated him in front of the entire class. Who spoke with him encouragingly about his classwork and drew him piece by piece out of his shell during lessons. Never had Neville mastered a spell more quickly than he had with Professor Lupin as his teacher.

It hadn’t been fair, that Professor Lupin had to leave while Professor Snape got to stay. Neville wished he’d done something different the day he resigned. He should have ran up to him and told him he was the best teacher he ever had. Perhaps then he would have decided to stay.

Neville briefly considered writing a thank you letter to send along with Hermione’s, just in case Professor Lupin remembered. He tucked the letter up his sleeve and slipped across the landing to his grandmother’s study, where Dionysus stood perched on her large mahogany desk. He admitted to being slightly afraid of Dionysus. The tawny owl had piercing yellow eyes and was as twice as fierce as his grandmother. Many a visitor to his grandmother’s study had reached out absentmindedly to pet the owl only to receive a sharp bite for their troubles. He wasn’t entirely sure Dionysus would even consent to deliver a letter without his grandmother’s permission. Still he had to give it a try.

He hesitantly took a step towards the owl, which stared disdainfully at him. Imagining Dionysus in his grandmother’s clothes wasn’t nearly as effective as it had been with Snape.

“Aren’t you dressed yet?”

Neville turned at the sound of his grandmother’s voice. She had her coat on, the one with the minx collar that Neville had once clothed a Boggart in. She sighed at the sight of him in his pyjamas.

“Honestly Neville, hurry up and get dressed. Make sure you wrap up, it’s freezing outside”.

Neville blinked dimly. He shifted his sleeve to make sure the letter wasn’t peeking out from under it. “Are we going out?” he asked.

“Don’t tell me you forgot” his grandmother said distractedly, rummaging through her handbag. “We’re going to visit your parents”

He had forgotten completely. Neville bashfully hurried back to his room to get changed. Before he started Hogwarts he and his grandmother used to visit his parents at Mungo’s once a month, and over the holidays they visited them twice, once on Christmas Day and once on New Year’s Day. On bad days his parents would blink listlessly at them, or alternatively get so distressed at the sight of them that the Healers would ask them to leave. On good days Neville and his grandmother would be able to sit and talk to them for a bit, or rather talk at them. They didn’t recognise Neville of course, but they seemed to appreciate his company.

The best days were when they’d arrive at Mungo’s to find his parents doing a jigsaw puzzle together, or even to find his mum drawing patterns with a pad and paper. Neville would watch in a semi-trance as she slowly traced swirls and shapes, a calm smile in her eyes. In those moments with his parents Neville could almost forget the hospital wing around them. He could almost feel normal. Those were the days where it was always hardest to leave at the end of the visit.

Neville couldn’t remember if today had been a good day or a bad day. But Professor Lupin’s letter would have to wait for now.


	13. A Werewolf on the Ward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus Lupin's day doesn't go as expected

Remus Lupin had been waiting for almost an hour now. A pile of magazines and yesterday’s copy of the Daily Prophet lay ignored on the table in front of him. He blinked sleep from his eyes, yearning to get this appointment over with so he could crawl back into bed. It was a week until the full moon, and these days he found sleep increasingly difficult as his transformation approached. The strain of his transformations was only getting worse as he got older, hence the need for these bi-annual check-ups.

The St Mungo’s waiting room was mostly filled with people sporting mild burns from fireworks, or the families and friends of those who had overindulged on drink the night before. Earlier there had been another wizard he’d recognised as a fellow werewolf, who had been called in for his check-up before him. The two had exchanged a nod, but hadn’t spoken. The few healers who knew why they were here tended to look on two werewolves conversing with suspicion.

Remus swallowed a yawn and wished again that his appointment hadn’t been moved. Usually he’d be seeing Healer Asante, a friendly lycanthropy specialist who had cleaned him up many a time after a particularly painful transformation, and had the decency not to treat him like a wild animal. Efua Asante took it upon herself to keep in touch with her patients to check on how they were managing, and wrote to Remus whenever she heard any new developments about the wolfsbane potion. It was unlikely that the potion would be made available to him any time soon, the Ministry certainly weren’t interested in funding it, but Remus appreciated her efforts.

Unfortunately Efua was visiting family in Ghana, and it would be Healer Johnson who saw him today.

Healer Johnson and Healer Asante were as different as the sun and the moon. While Efua seemed perpetually pleased to see everyone, the look Johnson gave him whenever she had to take over for her colleague made it clear she’d prefer it if Remus wore a muzzle during check-ups. His attempts to be polite apparently only further convinced her that he was secretly hungering for her blood. Remus knew the long wait was because she was thoroughly interrogating the werewolf before him on his plans for the upcoming full moon.

“What are your intentions for this full moon?” she would ask Remus when his turn came, before pressing him on his security arrangements. Remus sighed. _Intentions_. What exactly did she think he _intended_ to do, other than lock himself somewhere secure?

“Tell her you intend to let off some steam and go hunting for virgins”, Sirius would have joked.

Remus felt the involuntary twitch of a smile, then shook himself. It was often as the full moon approached that Sirius’s voice came to him, laughing and teasing the way he had before, before… It would not do, he told himself, it would not do for him to fall down that hole again. To dredge up his memories of the boy he once knew, or rather thought he knew, and wonder why, how and when he had become the man who betrayed them all.

He’d been trapped in that hole for years after he lost them. James, Lily, Peter. Sirius. Going over what he could have done differently, how he could have prevented it. In moments of weakness he would even find himself planning to track down the Dursleys, to try to get a glimpse of Harry, of all that remained of his friends. But then his resolve would return, and he would remember that it was best to leave the boy be, to not disturb him and his relatives. At least he told himself it was his resolve. Another voice whispered that it was his cowardice, that he was scared to see the ghost of James in the boy.

The Ministry probably wouldn’t have permitted a werewolf to visit Harry anyway. It was his father’s death that finally pulled Remus out of that hole. The funeral had been a small one, and the few of his father’s relatives and friends who knew what Remus was seemed torn between the obligation to offer their sympathies and the desire to keep their distance from the werewolf. As the coffin was lowered into the grave a calming numbness crept over him, as he realised that everyone he had was now buried beneath the earth. And in that numbness he drifted into a routine. Get up and go to work. Go to his check-up appointments. Find a new job when people started to question his monthly absences. Double and triple check security arrangements for his transformations. Recover from the full moon, and start the cycle again.

A boy was staring at him.

Remus blinked. The boy was stood at the other end of the waiting room, next to an old woman who was talking with the wizard at the front desk. At first he thought he’d just accidentally caught eye contact with the round-faced boy as his gaze swept the room, but no, the boy hadn’t taken his eyes off him. There was a restlessness to him, as though he wanted to approach Remus.

With a pang Remus recognised the old woman. Augusta Longbottom. The boy was Frank and Alice’s son. Gentle-mannered Frank and brave, witty Alice, tortured into insanity by Voldemort’s followers. More friends. Another ghost. Despite his confusion, Remus tried to respond to the boy with a friendly smile. Likely he had recognised Remus from old photographs of his parents, during their days at the Order. The same age as Harry, he thought sadly. Though he hadn’t seen Harry since he was a baby, he kept track of his birthdays. Did he resemble James and Lily as much as the boy in front of him resembled Frank and Alice?

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the boy had moved.

“Mooney?”

All the air escaped his lungs at the sound of his old name. Remus sat up in his seat, startled. The boy was stood in front of him, eyeing him hesitantly. He looked nervous, and glanced quickly back at his grandmother to check she hadn’t noticed he’d given her the slip.

“Mooney” he repeated, this time with more certainty. Remus could only gape at him, no sound coming from his mouth. The boy pressed a letter into his hand.

“How- how did you-?”

“Neville!” Across the room Augusta Longbottom had realised her grandson was missing.

“Read it” Neville whispered urgently as his grandmother made her way over to them. “It’s important”.

He turned quickly to his grandmother, who beckoned him impatiently. Remus watched as they entered the lift, dimly aware that he was being called by the wizard at the desk for his appointment. Ignoring him, Remus stared down at the letter in his hands.

The handwriting was unfamiliar. But there it was again, at the top of the page, a name he hadn’t been called for nearly a decade. He could almost hear it, a whisper in his ear. It was not in his voice, or in Neville’s, or whoever had written this letter. It was Sirius he heard. A voice he had tried not to hear. A voice he tried so hard to learn to hate. A voice that was now insisting that his friend hear him. “_Mooney_”.

He read, and the world stopped turning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rewrite of what was originally going to be in the previous chapter in Neville's POV, because we can never have too much of my favourite Marauder


	14. I'd Like To Report An Animagus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Ginny have proof that Scabbers is an Animagus, but will anyone recognise Pettigrew in the photograph?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also Ron and Ginny narrowly avoid getting in trouble for the fireworks - for now anyway

There had been much yelling and confusion as they showed their family the photograph. After waiting and trembling in the snow to see if Pettigrew would follow them, Percy’s wand raised to kill, they finally realised with relief that Pettigrew had probably made a run for it. In the clear for now, Ron and Ginny set about shouting that Scabbers was an animagus and they’d got a photograph to prove it.

“Wait, was this you two?” Percy demanded, gesturing to the smoke still drifting out the kitchen, but they insistently pressed the photograph into their parents hands.

“What game is this?” Mum asked in bewilderment and anger.

“It’s not a game, this man was just in my room!” Ron yelled. “He tried to grab me Mum”

“You were having a bad dream Ron”

“No I wasn’t, I got a photo, look!”

Dad looked at the photo, and at his polaroid camera still hanging around Ron’s neck. Frowning, he reached out his hand to Ron for the photo. Ginny watched with bated breath as he stared at it. His frown vanished and a grim horror slowly dawned on his face.

“This man was in our house?” he asked quietly.

“It’s Scabbers!” Ginny told him urgently. “That man is Scabbers, he was disguised as a rat!”

She wondered if Dad had ever met Pettigrew, if he recognised the man in the photo. Mum grabbed Ron’s shoulders in a sudden panic, checking him over. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? What- what do you mean he was Scabbers?”

“He can’t have been Scabbers” Percy insisted. “We’ve had him for years-”

“I saw him” Ginny piped up. Mum rapidly turned to look at her. “I-I came downstairs last night for a glass of water” she made up quickly. “He was in the kitchen, and then he turned into Scabbers”.

Mum went deathly pale. Percy and the twins seemed torn, still gaping in disbelief. Charlie stared from Ginny to Ron, and his eyes widened in realisation. “That’s why the two of you were looking for him all day” he said, shaken. He looked to Dad. “Dad, he could still be in the house”.

Dad clenched the photograph in his hand. With a quick glance at the house he hurriedly picked up a watering can and took out his wand, muttering _Portus_. “Molly” he said. “Take this and get the kids to the Diggory’s. Tell Amos what happened, and send him over here”.

“I’m staying Dad” Charlie said determinedly. To Ginny’s surprise, their parents didn’t argue. She was glad. She did not want Dad on his own. However beside her she caught Ron’s relief evaporate as he realised what Dad was intending to do.

Mum pulled her and Ron close to her. “Hands on the portkey” she said urgently. “Come on, everyone”.

Half an hour later they were gathered in silence in the Diggory’s living room. After Amos Diggory rushed out of the house to join Dad and Charlie, pulling a coat over his pyjamas, Mrs Diggory set about making mugs of tea and hot chocolate. Mum tearfully checked over Ron and Ginny for the hundredth time, then joined her in the kitchen, where Ginny could hear Mrs Diggory’s whispered questions and words of comfort. Percy and the twins sat across from them, pale and not saying a word. They had questions for her and Ron, Ginny could tell, but they didn’t say anything as Cedric Diggory entered the room, confused and blinking sleep from his eyes. He politely hurried to help his mum bring in the hot chocolate.

Ginny sat next to Ron. He was still clutching the camera, staring at a space on the wall. He didn’t say anything, but she could tell he was terrified about Dad. A drowsiness tugged at her, but she was never going to sleep tonight. She put her hand on her brother’s, and they sat and waited.

Morning came and Charlie and Amos returned, announcing that it was safe to go home and that Dad had gone to the Ministry. The Diggory’s came with them as they returned to the Burrow, and Mrs Diggory made Mum another strong mug of tea.

While the family was distracted by the still-smoking kitchen, Ron slipped outside to Dad’s shed to use the fellytone. He returned sooner than Ginny expected, face grim. “It was his uncle” Ron whispered to her. “I shouted, but I don’t know if Harry heard me”.

Ginny glanced back at the kitchen to check the rest of their family weren’t listening. Charlie and Percy had set about removing the smouldering remains of the fireworks, and the twins were talking to Cedric. “Do you reckon the Ministry have figured out Pettigrew’s alive yet?” Ginny murmured.

“I hope so”. Ron’s face was clouded with worry. “We should have found a way to catch him. He could have been arrested by now”.

“We caught him the best we could” Ginny assured him. “Now we have proof-”

“What if a photo isn’t enough?” Ron said. “They didn’t believe us last time, they could say it’s an old photo-”

“They won’t”. Ginny insisted. “Ron, we couldn’t have captured him. He knew we were on to him”.

“And that’s my fault-”

“No it isn’t”. She sighed in exasperation. “Stop blaming yourself”. When Ron continued to look unconvinced Ginny nudged him. “Come on, he was hiding as a rat for _8 years_, he must have been bored out of his mind. Of course he would have been on the look out for anyone suddenly acting interesting, we wouldn’t have been able to hide it from him”.

Ron said nothing. He glanced at the clock, chewing his lip in thought. “The Ministry need to hurry”. he said. “Pettigrew might come after Harry, and Harry doesn’t know he escaped”.

Ginny froze. She hadn’t thought of that.

“He’s protected at his Aunt and Uncle’s though, isn’t he?” she asked uncertainly. “I know they’re horrible to him, but Dumbledore will have protective charms there, won’t he?”

“Yeah” Ron said hesitantly. “Yeah, he will have”.

They jumped at the sound of flames roaring in the next room, and the twin’s voices called from the kitchen, “Dad’s back!”

Ginny and Ron tore into the kitchen, desperate for news. Dad looked tired as he brushed soot off his coat. Seeing her and Ron, he beckoned them, and pulled them into a hug.

“Are you two okay?” he murmured into Ginny’s hair.

“We’re fine Dad” she murmured back into his jumper.

Dad looked up at Mum. “The Ministry need them to come in to make a statement”.

Mum didn’t look happy. “Are you sure Arthur? Can’t they send someone here?”

“It’s okay Mum” Ron said quickly. Ginny nodded in agreement. At the Ministry they would be able to hear first-hand what was going on.

Mum still looked tearful as she put on their coats, buttoning up the front for them. As she wrapped scarves around them and tucked them into their coats Ginny remembered with a pang how young she was in this body. She was still a baby to her parents. The worst thing to have happened to her hadn’t happened yet. As far as Mum knew, her 8-year-old daughter had been blissfully unaware what fear was before last night.

“We’re really okay Mum” she whispered reassuringly.

Mum sniffed and nodded, putting on a watery smile. “I know” she said. She reached out to cup both her and Ron’s heads. “You’ve both been so grown up”.

_You have no idea._

Ginny had been to the Ministry before to see Dad’s office, though, she tried to remember, not in this body. Their feet clattered loudly on the dark polished floor of the Atrium, echoing as they hurried to the lifts. The Atrium was emptier than it had been last time. It was early in the morning on New Year’s Day, and only a small trickle of yawning workers were coming through the gilded fireplaces on the sides of the long hall.

Amos Diggory joined them as they stepped out of the lift on Level 2, falling into step beside them. There were shadows under his eyes.

“They’ve not assigned an Auror yet” she heard him tell Dad. “Just a basic Law Enforcement Officer for now. Barely glanced at the photo. I told them, this man was hiding in your house, whoever he was he was clearly a dangerous maniac –”

Dad coughed and Amos remembered Ginny and Ron were there, and he fell silent. Ginny and Ron rolled their eyes at each other. She felt a swell of anger that after all their planning no one had even _looked_ at the photo yet. She whispered to Ron to reassure him. “It’s still early, the Aurors probably aren’t even out of bed yet”.

They were directed past a row of cubicles and shown into an office, and sat down at the desk to wait. Ron fidgeted nervously next to her, tapping a restless beat with his foot.

“I should try just asking Moody directly” Dad muttered to Amos. “He’ll insist on being thorough”.

“I heard he’s gone a bit paranoid these days”.

“Good. I feel paranoid”.

A bespectacled wizard entered the office. “Ah, Arthur, here you are. I heard something about a break-in?”

“It wasn’t a break-in!” Ginny blurted out impatiently, and Amos covered his mouth to hide his laughter. _I hate being eight_, she thought furiously.

The wizard coughed. “Ah, yes, of course. You had a photograph of the man?”

“I have it here” Amos said, but they were interrupted by a witch, who poked her head through the door.

“Arthur Weasley?” she asked. “There’s a man here looking to talk to you. Eric told him you’d be here”.

Dad sighed. “If it’s about the singing mailboxes it’s going to have to wait”.

“It’s not about singing mailboxes” said a familiar voice from behind the witch. Ginny’s heart leapt. Ron sat up next to her. The Remus Lupin of four years ago looked less lined, less scarred, and a lot less calm. He pushed his way past the ministry witch and wizard, ignoring their protests.

“I heard there was a man in your house” he said urgently. He held out a photo. “Is this him?”

“Yes!” Ron yelped excitedly, bolting out of his seat and almost knocking it over. “Yes! That’s him!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading - stay inside and stay safe! Next up, Harry will be doing the exact opposite of that...


	15. Harry Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wandless Harry makes his way back to the Wizarding World

Harry was starving. He’d ran far from any streets he recognised, though the houses were near identical to those of Little Whinging. The streets were for the most part still asleep and unmoving in the cold winter sunrise, which blinked coolly between the buildings as Harry made his way past, stomach growling all the way. Harry was used to being hungry, but that didn’t make the experience any more enjoyable. He hadn’t had a chance to get something to eat from the kitchen before Hermione called, and then his uncle hadn’t been too happy with him.

A pain shot in his chest. He was no longer running, but Harry was still out of breath. At first he’d feared his uncle would call the police, and braced himself for the sight of a police officer or police car coming around the next corner. He wasn’t too confident that they would listen if he asked for help. Harry had told an adult about his relatives before. A teacher at his school, Miss Palka, he remembered her name was. She had been a young substitute teacher, who had briefly taken over for Mrs Wells in teaching Year 1. One lesson they had to write a story about what they did at the weekend. Harry had fidgeted with his pen and stared anxiously down at his exercise book while the other kids scribbled around him. Seeing his struggle, Miss Palka had knelt down next to him, and tried to prompt him.

“Did you go anywhere nice with your family?” She suggested in a light, smiley voice. “The park? Or the cinema?”

“No”. Harry had shook his head and barely spoken above a whisper, shy of the attention. “I stayed at home”.

“Okay then, did you play with your cousin?”

She had been new. She hadn’t been around long enough to learn that Harry and Dudley were far from friends.

“No. I played by myself”.

What did you play?”

“I-”

Gradually, question by question, Harry had started to feel a little brave. Eventually, he whispered in Miss Palka’s ear about his cupboard. He was old enough, by then, to realise that it wasn’t normal for him to sleep there, especially since the Dursleys didn’t like him telling anyone about the cupboard. But until this teacher, this kind new teacher, Harry hadn’t thought about saying anything.

Unfortunately when Miss Palka spoke to the Dursleys they told her Harry had made himself a den under the stairs that he liked to play in, that of course he had a proper bed. To her credit, Miss Palka hadn’t believed them at first. She continued to ask Harry questions, but by then Uncle Vernon had already given Harry a fierce warning. And then the headteacher got involved and the substitute teacher was convinced to drop the matter, and Harry got into trouble for ‘telling tales’.

Then again if the police did catch him… Harry supposed that the cupboard had been a much easier thing for his uncle to cover up. And this Uncle Vernon had been a lot less careful. Harry hadn’t looked at his back in the mirror, but he was sure the marks on it were bad. They felt bad. Perhaps the Dursleys were even putting off calling the police, terrified of what would happen if Harry showed them his back.

That thought made Harry sorely tempted to find the nearest police officer, just to see the look on his uncle’s face when he got arrested. But the memory of Miss Palka’s best efforts halted him. The outcome would depend on the police officer. Plus, he didn’t want to spend a second longer in the muggle world than necessary. Harry told himself that every second he was away from the wizarding world was a second longer his godfather had to spend in Azkaban.

A rational part of his mind knew that Ron had already started seeing to Pettigrew. Maybe he had already been arrested, or at least would be by the time Harry got to the Burrow. There was probably nothing Harry could really do to speed up the process. That thought made him wonder whether he should have just stuck it out at the Dursley’s. Ron wouldn’t leave him there, he knew, and it wasn’t really safe for a 9-year-old to make the journey to London on his own. But if Ron was unable to convince his parents about time travel, there was only so much he could do. And in any case, Harry would have to wait for Sirius to be freed before he had any chance at leaving Privet Drive. And this Uncle Vernon, Harry shuddered, was a lot more dangerous than his uncle in the other timeline. His back and his arm attested to that.

Harry winced as his arm throbbed. He didn’t think it was broken – a rogue bludger in his second year had certainly made sure he was no stranger to broken arms – but Uncle Vernon had definitely done some damage when he grabbed it. He wished he had something to make a sling out of, but he only had his jumper. He hadn’t thought to grab a coat. Harry shivered. It wasn’t snowing, but it was _cold_. Cold enough that a light frost glittered on the roads, and dark icy patches sent him skidding. He was just glad he was still in the clothes he’d been wearing last night, not bothering to change out of them when he’d been thrown in his cupboard. He counted himself lucky he wasn’t in his pyjamas, and that he had shoes on his feet.

The lack of a coat would definitely draw unwanted suspicion though, and being a kid on his own at this hour was suspicious enough. Harry tried to walk casually, but he knew everything about him screamed ‘runaway’. Luckily New Year’s Day was quiet, and those awake were too tired to pay him any attention. Still Harry was uncomfortably aware of increased eyes on him as the trees grew fewer and the buildings closer together as he neared town.

The next problem was figuring out a way to Diagon Alley. He couldn’t _walk_ to London. If he had his wand, Harry thought glumly, he could flag down the Knight Bus. Sure the journey would churn his stomach and he would be asked too many questions, but it would be quick, warm and he would get a hot chocolate out of it.

He looked at the money he had stolen from Aunt Petunia. He could almost hear Aunt Marge’s indignation when they found out. “The ungrateful thieving brat” she was probably seething. “I said it last night, the rotten apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”. She would recommend sending him to an institution. Or hope out loud that he froze to death, or got hit by a car, or kidnapped. The Dursleys were probably hoping the same thing, he thought bitterly.

With that in mind Harry didn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt for stealing what turned out to be £50. That would get him a train ticket to London. And, he thought as his stomach growled, some food.

The sun rose higher in the sky and Harry eventually wandered his way into town. To get to London he first needed to find Woking Station. Harry looked carefully around, trying to figure out which road he should take. He’d had a go working it out on a map after his first year at Hogwarts, figuring he should be prepared for the event that his relatives would refuse to drive him to King’s Cross. But circumstances in the past two years had made that unnecessary and he couldn’t for the life of him remember the directions. There were no signs pointing the way, and none of the streets stuck out in his memory. Asking for directions was out of the question, not unless he could come up with a very good excuse for why he was on his own. A panic began to bubble in his chest; he could be hours wandering the streets trying to find the station. What if he got lost? What if a stranger grabbed him? What if the police or his uncle found him? _He’d kill him for burning his hand._

To Harry’s alarm he felt tears of worry begin to prick in his eyes. That will not do. It was busier here, and if someone caught a 9-year-old alone and crying they would definitely bring him to the police. And back to Privet Drive. Blinking rapidly Harry pulled the sleeves of his jumper over his hands, which were stiff and red in the frosty air, and tried to tell himself to calm down. _Just pick a street_, he repeated to himself, as his feet began to trudge slowly beneath him. _Just pick one and walk down it for a bit, then turn back and try another street_. As he went he kept himself going with thoughts of The Burrow, of its warm tiny kitchen and Mrs Weasley’s cooking and the magical family clock on the mantelpiece. And Ron, he told himself, who had come back to the past with him, who remembered. Harry was so thankful that Ron and Hermione were here with him, even if they weren’t together yet.

His feet eventually took him down a street of shops that looked vaguely familiar, Harry thought hopefully. He was pretty sure he’d been here with Aunt Petunia. Though his aunt preferred to leave him with Mrs Figg, sometimes she would be forced to bring Harry along when she went shopping. Dudley would whine and demand sweets, and Aunt Petunia would snap harshly at Harry to keep up, but still he vastly preferred it to being stuck with Mrs Figg and her cats. The sight of the shops was calming, even though he still had no idea where the train station was. Their familiarity at least helped him to feel as though he was on the right track. Most of them were closed, but a Gregg's wafted enticingly at him. It took all of Harry’s resolve to pull his feet away and keep walking: in London it would be easier to dodge questions while getting food.

His feet turned a corner and Harry stopped. He felt like crying out in relief. Before him stood a building he’d been dragged around many a time before. It had been here, at Woking Shopping Centre, that an excited wizard in a top hat had once bowed to Harry, much to his Aunt’s horror. Woking Station was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t matter, Harry remembered with glee, it was somewhere nearby! Harry grinned and clutched the stolen notes tightly in his hand. Now, he thought confidently, _now_ he was on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knows, maybe Harry will even get a reunion sometime soon


	16. Throwing The Rules Out The Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione considers the exciting possibilities of time travel and I make a further reference to Matilda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has not had a happy time for her past few chapters, so here is a Happy Hermione chapter! Thank you all for reading, and again everyone stay safe! Next up, Harry makes it to Diagon Alley.

Hermione almost hugged the owl that swept through her bedroom window. The fierce owl gave her a sharp bite on her finger for her efforts, but also, finally, a reply.

She led the tawny owl to perch on her desk and eagerly opened Neville’s response. It was better than she could have hoped for. Professor Lupin already had her letter! Her head felt giddy with relief as she read. By some stroke of luck Neville had been able to hand it to him personally! Neville had many questions for her to answer, and the owl squawked haughtily as though to remind her he wouldn’t wait around forever, but in that moment Hermione felt too giddy to think straight. Now that Lupin knew about Pettigrew, he could catch him and get Sirius out of Azkaban a whole four years earlier, and this time as an innocent man!

When she had first sat down to write the letter, Hermione’s pen had hovered for a moment over the paper. Her first impulse was to write to Dumbledore and explain what had happened, in the hopes that he’d find a way to fix it and get her back to her own time.

But then the events of the past few days, of Lupin and Sirius and Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack, swam to the forefront of her mind and stuck there. Hermione remembered the look on Harry’s face when she’d had to stop him going after Pettigrew. She remembered the way his face would close off over the next few days, swallowing back a quiet grief. He said nothing, but she and Ron could see how heavily it weighed on his mind, how close they had come to proving his Godfather’s innocence. When they’d sat watching and waiting under the Whomping Willow, Harry had eagerly whispered to Hermione about Sirius’s offer to live with him. His eyes had been glimmering with hope and excitement. But watching Sirius fly away on Buckbeak, as it set in for Harry that his Godfather would continue to be on the run, his eyes seemed to age in an instant.

For a split second Hermione had found herself reaching for the Time Turner around her neck. She wondered if maybe it wasn’t too late to fix it, to use the Time Turner to get things right this time. It was tempting. So _so_ tempting. What had she done that entire year, if not imagine the possibilities of what she could do if she dared to ignore McGonagall’s warnings. But further meddling had been out of the question. Hermione shuddered to imagine the consequences of three sets of them running around the grounds on the same night, especially with poor Professor Lupin on the loose as a werewolf. No, they could not meddle further. They had been given the chance to save Sirius from the Dementor’s Kiss, and that was not to be taken for granted, even if the result wasn’t what they wanted. But the look on Harry’s face…

Now however, Hermione thought breathlessly, now the rules of the Time Turner had apparently been thrown out the window. Now they might actually be able to fix it. To fix everything. The new future shone in front of her. Pettigrew caught, Lupin perhaps even a hero for catching him, Sirius free from Azkaban and Harry free from Privet Drive. And they could stop so much else from happening! The world seemed to spin in a frenzy, and Hermione was certain this was what being drunk felt like. They knew in advance about Quirrell, about Lockhart, about Tom Riddle’s diary, they could even clear Hagrid’s name!

_Not to mention she would absolutely ace her exams_.

This, _this_ was why she had chosen to write to Lupin. Not just because of the rational part of her, that said getting back to their own time could well be beyond even Dumbledore’s capabilities. But rather because, why not stay here? Why go back to the future, when they could stay and make everything better?

The excitement bubbled inside her. Hermione swore in that moment she could fly. To her surprise her teddy, the one she’d thrown across the room in frustration, started to do exactly that. It rose slowly and stopped to float at eye level with her, its shiny eyes almost seeming to be smiling. Hermione glanced around and let out a delighted laugh. Some of her other toys and belongings had started to do the same, floating and drifting around her. Whereas before she couldn’t get her teddy to budge, now her magic seemed to be spilling out of her. Hermione started giggling. She didn’t quite have it under control yet, this magic in her younger body, still raw and untrained. But she felt confident. _Merlin’s beard_ she felt powerful. The despair of that morning seemed a million lifetimes ago.

Her mum was watching her from the door.

She was staring at her daughter, mouth agape in stunned silence. Horror and astonishment flashed across her face. Hermione stopped giggling. She half-expected the toys to come crashing to the floor, as she cast her mind for some way to explain the impossible. But they remained suspended.

The silence seemed to last an eternity, broken suddenly by the indignant screech of Neville’s owl. Mum hadn’t noticed it, but now she yelped at the sight of the bird in her daughter’s room. Her hand flew to the frame of the door for support. It looked as though she wanted to enter the room, to swipe past the toys and grab her daughter and run, from whatever was happening. But Mum stayed at the threshold, as though it marked some invisible line she must not cross.

Hermione carefully watched her mum’s face, her mind racing. She glanced at the letter in her hand, at Neville’s clumsy handwriting. There was still so much that she couldn’t tell her parents, so much that she’d never be able to explain, but… perhaps she could confide just enough to make things better. Why not, since she was fixing things, fix this? Why not have her friends back two years earlier, with her more than just through letters and phone calls? Neville had even provided the perfect cover for her. They met at Kew Gardens.

Mum worried about her, she knew. Even before finding her crying this morning, she worried about Hermione struggling to make friends, about her daughter being lonely. Hermione gripped the letter as though she was drawing life from it. She could at least give her mum one less thing to worry about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so bad for Hermione's parents, they so rarely get a look in, and then they get packed off to Australia for a year


	17. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin

Of all the things from the future Harry missed, his invisibility cloak, now currently in Dumbledore’s possession at Hogwarts, was high on the list. If only he had it now, Harry grumbled to himself, he’d be able to slip through London unseen. He did his best to look inconspicuous while navigating his way to Diagon Alley. With each stop on the London Underground Harry tailed the nearest adult he could, and people seemed to assume they were his parents. But, as predicted, the lack of a coat was making him stick out like a sore thumb. An old woman had interrogated him, clicking her teeth in concern. “Poor Dearie” she said, brows knitted in a frown. “You should be wearing a coat in this cold”.

“My mum’s taking me to buy one now”, Harry said quickly, then followed the nearest woman off the train. It wasn’t his stop, so he waited for the next train to come along. The smells from a small food stand at the station made him dizzy, so he gave in and hurried to buy a sausage roll. He munched it contently on the next train, keeping an eye on the map above him. The last time he had been on the Underground he’d been with Hagrid, whose immense size had drawn every eye in London to him. He felt a twist of longing to have Hagrid with him now, chattering cheerfully about dragons and muggles to the confusion of everyone around them.

He'd feel a lot safer too if he had Hagrid by his side. Harry couldn’t help but flinch slightly if he saw anyone on the underground who vaguely resembled his uncle. It was unlikely the Dursleys would be looking for him here, but Harry couldn’t shake an uncomfortable feeling. That something would go wrong before he got to Diagon Alley.

The train came to his final stop, and Harry hopped off his seat. He checked and double checked the map, then hurried through the crowd of commuters, up through the winding tunnels of the Underground to reach the surface. Behind him the trains whipped up a warm current of wind as they thundered past, sending it flying up the tunnels after him, buffeting him along with the crowd. Harry winced as someone banged into his arm, biting his tongue to stop himself from crying out. He definitely needed to make a sling first chance he got.

A cold blast of air greeted him as he reached the surface, and Harry sped up his pace, no longer caring for any eyes on him. He wasn’t far now. Once he got to the Leaky Cauldron he’d be able to ask for some Floo Powder. Tom the Barman was friendly, and Harry had got to know him quite well when he’d stayed there last summer. He wouldn’t remember him of course, but Tom was the sort who would help Harry out if he asked. He nervously flattened his fringe down over his scar. People would probably be more eager to help him if they recognised him, but Harry really didn’t want to face the kind of reception he had the first time he stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. He hoped to be able to just slip in quietly and speak to Tom behind the bar.

Harry raced down Charing Cross Road, past the bars and cafes and muggle shops. The dark shabby front of the Leaky Cauldron came into view, small and unnoticed by everyone but him, obscured by the brightly coloured Blockbuster’s and McDonald's on either side. The McDonald's was one of the few places open this early on New Year’s Day, and a homeless man sat hopefully outside it. In his haste to get back to the wizarding world Harry hurried past him, but then he stopped in his tracks, hesitating. With a glance back at the homeless man Harry rifled through the last of the notes he’d stolen from Aunt Petunia. There was about £30 leftover after the train tickets and the sausage roll. He wouldn’t be needing them now in the wizarding world. Harry doubled back to put them in the man’s hat.

“Blimey” the homeless man said, staring down at the pile of notes. He looked up to say thank you, then stopped when he saw Harry. “Hey, are you sure kid?” the man frowned at him. “You should be wearing a coat”.

“I’m sure” Harry said quickly, pretending he didn’t hear the second question. “Um, Happy New Year” he added politely, then turned to hurry. The Leaky Cauldron was _right there_.

“You okay kid?” he heard the man call out after him in concern. Harry sped up. He’d drawn attention to himself. If a police officer stopped him now, when he was so close-

Harry didn’t see who grabbed him. He didn’t see the hand that clamped itself over his mouth, so tight he couldn’t scream. The door of the Leaky Cauldron swam before his eyes as he and his captor turned on the spot, and he was violently pulled into a tight, crushing darkness. Harry felt his lungs convulse under the pressure as the world collapsed around him. He struggled, desperate for air-

He could breathe again. Behind him his captor suddenly let go and Harry fell to the ground, gasping air into his raw lungs. He retched as he struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Had he travelled in time again?

Behind him his captor muttered a spell. His vision clouded in the corner of his eyes, and he felt his head sink heavily to the ground. Harry dimly registered the scent of pine leaves before drifting into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... he was never going to make it.
> 
> Well now is a good time to admit I have run out of backlog for this fic, but since I have literally nothing else to do I will try to write and update as soon as possible! Thank you all so much for reading, and stay tuned for updates!


	18. The Hunt Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus keeps getting approached by omniscient children and it's starting to stress him out. Someone with constant vigilance notices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all you amazing readers, here is a nice long chapter to make up for that cliffhanger.

“You are certain this photograph was taken last night?”

Dawlish had been the first Auror they could get hold of. Initially Remus had been glad to see an Auror, any Auror, coming to take the case. But then the first thing Dawlish did was call for Crouch, who immediately started questioning the photograph.

“Mr Crouch, I promise you this was taken last night” Arthur Weasley insisted for the third time. “My daughter witnessed Pettigrew transform, and then the man attacked my son in his bedroom”.

Crouch’s eyes flickered towards the two young Weasley children, who’d been sat down at a desk away from the conversation and were looking thoroughly unimpressed at the proceedings. Some well-meaning Ministry employee had scrounged up some colouring supplies for them, which were left untouched. Remus had to admit that something about the Weasley children unnerved him. His suspicions had been raised when they, like Frank and Alice’s son, appeared to recognise him. More than that, their eyes had lit up at the sight of him.

Before he could dwell on it, Mr Crouch had arrived, an irritated curl of his lips slightly perceptible behind his neat toothbrush moustache, and set about grinding the case to a halt. Every second they spent going over the photograph put Remus on the verge of screaming. It was all he could do to stay composed around these ministry officials, who were already throwing him cautious looks. One slip up, and they would insist that the werewolf leave. He warily took a step back to reassure them, masking his growing frustration.

“My other son’s wand has also been stolen” Arthur continued.

“A children’s nightmare and a misplaced wand is not sufficient evidence” Crouch said curtly.

“The photograph-”

“Could be years old. Peter Pettigrew is an honorary holder of the order of Merlin, First Class. To soil a dead man’s reputation on the mere basis of-”

“Peter was my friend, Mr Crouch” Remus finally interrupted. “I don’t take ‘soiling his reputation’ lightly. But this photograph is enough to have reasonable doubt against Sirius Black’s guilt-”

In the corner of his eye he caught Dawlish’s wand hand twitch. Crouch regarded him icily for a moment. “There were multiple eye-witnesses to Black’s crimes” he stated conclusively.

Wary of Dawlish, Remus took another step back. The truth of the matter tasted like acid in his mouth. Crouch did not want Pettigrew to be alive. After his son’s incarceration, after his humiliation, Crouch’s last shining legacy was the swift and ruthless justice he had served to Voldemort’s followers. It had been Crouch who had sent Sirius to Azkaban without a trial, and he had been applauded for it. If it were revealed to the world that Sirius had in fact been innocent, what remained of Crouch’s reputation would be soiled.

An ugly hatred exploded in his chest at the sight of Crouch. Remus tried to control his breathing. The full moon was approaching, making keeping his temper all the more difficult. He could feel the Enforcement Officers eyes on him, their hands on their wands. _Breathe_.

He could hate Crouch all he wanted. But not as much as he hated himself. It was not as though he had spoken up on Sirius’s behalf. Remus had no clear memory of the weeks following Sirius’s arrest. He supposed he’d gone into a state of shock. It had all been too much. James and Lily dead. Sirius responsible and surrounded by bloodshed. And Peter… Peter’s finger in a box…

At least some part of him at first protested that it couldn’t be true. That Sirius would never... His mind recoiled away from even contemplating it. He had a vague memory of Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall finally sitting down with him at Headquarters, telling him that the evidence was indisputable. Sirius had been the Secret-Keeper, and multiple eye-witnesses had seen and heard Peter confront him, had seen Sirius-

McGonagall’s voice had been heavy with grief as she said it, and he remembered her hand trembling on his shoulder. James and Sirius had always been particular favourites of hers, what with their boisterous enthusiasm for Transfiguration. She’d been fond of Remus too, but he’d always been more reserved. Remus knew that day she’d been thinking the same as he: how could they have not seen it, how could they have missed it?

A horrible answer had come to Remus all those years ago, fully formed and damning: Remus had always turned away. When James and Sirius bullied Snape, even when they went a bit too far in teasing Peter, Remus had said nothing. He made excuses for it, and for the most part succeeded in forgetting about it. In his joy and relief at having friends, he didn’t dare to really look. And, he told himself, James and Lily and Peter had died for it.

The memory of it made Remus sick. That in his guilt, in his grief, he’d convinced himself that what the world was telling him was true. That Sirius was a murderer and a traitor. Even though he _knew_ Sirius. He’d confided in him, and Sirius had confided in Remus, about his worry for his brother, about his anger at his family, how he didn’t want to be like them. Yes, he used to lash out at Snape, yes he took things too far, yes he was stubborn and impulsive and reckless and childish-

But he wasn’t a murderer. He wasn’t a traitor. He was loyal. He was the most loyal person Remus had ever known. And Remus had abandoned him to Azkaban.

Remus clenched his fists. Ignoring the wands, ignoring the eyes, he took a step forward. “Those close enough to hear what really happened were killed” Remus protested. He met Crouch’s glare, and continued. “Not to mention, you have no confession from Sirius, and no other evidence of Peter’s death aside from a finger – there were no other remains at the scene. Peter is an animagus, he has been since our fifth year at Hogwarts-”

“This man is clearly too close to the matter” Crouch said dismissively, gesturing to an enforcement officer to escort Remus.

The nearest officer made to grab his arm, but Remus threw her hand away. “He could have easily slipped away as a rat-”

“It’s true” the young Weasley boy joined in, jumping out of his seat and around the desk. “He’s an animagus!”

“We saw him!” added his sister, who rounded furiously on Crouch. “We didn’t have a nightmare you stupid-”

“Mr Weasley, you should take your children home-”

“There is an innocent man sitting in a cell-”

“Dawlish if you could restrain Mr Lupin-”

“Settling back into your old job are you Crouch?”

They all turned to see an electric blue eye watching them from the doorway. The eye spun to scrutinise Mr Crouch from a face so scarred it resembled a rough slab of bark, with a large jagged chunk missing from its nose. Mad-Eye Moody strode into the room, and the Enforcement Officers hurriedly parted to make way for him. His prosthetic leg clunked heavily as he approached Crouch.

“Things getting a little dull over at the Department for International Cooperation?” Moody growled. “Last I checked Bones headed this office. What gives you authority here?”

Crouch’s scowl twitched, and he straightened his impeccably polished robes. He looked almost as affronted at Moody’s dishevelled appearance as he did at the challenge to his authority. “As you are no doubt aware, Alastor” he began coldly. “It was I who presided over this case when it first-”

“Back when you were Department head” Moody interrupted. “Which you are no longer. Where is Bones?” he barked at Dawlish, who blinked, startled. “She should have been told first”.

“Mr Moody” Dawlish said. “Today is New Year’s, it’s Madam’s Bones’ day off, and yours as well-”

“What do I need a day off for? Have you even contacted Bones, or Scrimgeour? Why is Crouch even here? Never mind” Moody continued dismissively, as Dawlish flustered. “Time for that later. I want search teams out looking for Pettigrew now”.

Remus could have kissed Mad-Eye. Half of the Enforcement Officers immediately scurried at his orders, though some lingered, including the witch who had tried to grab him. “Sir, you can’t mean-” she began.

“If there is truth to this, then there is a dangerous killer on the loose whose cover has just been blown” Moody snarled urgently. “Bring him in now, ask questions later”.

At that the witch and the others who had lingered jumped to follow their colleagues. Crouch opened his mouth to protest, but Moody ignored him. "Don't forget he can turn into a rat!" he barked after the officers. "Be vigilant!"

Crouch looked livid at his dismissal. “Alastor” he said warningly. “You are no more head of this department than I am, and as a senior official I-”

“Am in my way” Moody growled. “I want search teams out in Little Whinging too”.

“Little Whinging?”

“That’s why I’m in on my ‘day off’. Just received word from Dumbledore. It seems Harry Potter has run away from home”.

Remus heard a sharp intake of breath. He turned to see the Weasley children staring at them, their eyes wide in horror. The boy in particular had gone pale.

“Weasley, Diggory” he heard Moody bark behind him, as Dawlish ran off to relay his orders. “You say you searched the house-”

The boy glanced at his father, then hurried over to Remus, his little sister trailing behind him. “Harry’s going to Diagon Alley” he whispered urgently.

Remus stared down in confusion at the two Weasley children, his mind whirring. “How do you know?” he asked quietly, his suspicions confirmed. A thought occurred to him and Remus hurriedly reached into his pocket, drawing out the letter Neville Longbottom had cryptically given him. “This- this letter, did you write this?”

The boy’s eyes brightened at the sight of the letter. “Hermione” he whispered in relief.

This was all getting too much for Remus. “Who is Hermione?” he could hear his voice shaking. “And how did she know about Peter, and about my- how do _you_ know Harry?”

“It’s a long story” the younger sister piped up, and the boy nodded hurriedly in agreement.

“Too long” he said. “But you need to trust us. Diagon Alley, that’s where Harry will go”.

“Ron, Ginny”. Arthur Weasley called over to them. His face looked grim from his conversation with Moody. “Come on” he beckoned. “I need to get you two home, your mum will be worrying”.

“Diagon Alley” the small girl – Ginny – hissed one more time, and the two Weasley children took their father’s hands, throwing pleading glances back at Remus as they left the office.

Remus watched them leave, bewildered, and wondered not for the first time that day if the strain of his transformations had finally gotten to him. His head swam, and the office echoed blurrily around him. Taking a breath, he shook himself. Whatever was going on with these kids, however it was they knew the things they knew, there was time for that later. Right now, Harry was headed to Diagon Alley alone, and Peter was out there.

He turned to the door, only to find himself face to face with Mad-Eye, his dark normal eye watching him quizzically. He saw only the blank white of his other eye, which was no doubt watching to check his orders were being followed in the next room.

“Funny kids, those Weasleys” he said, watching Remus closely.

Remus blinked. “I’m sorry” he said stupidly, momentarily taken aback. He supposed he should have expected Mad-Eye to have noticed something off.

“Quit gaping” Mad-Eye said gruffly. “You’re smarter than that. Those kids were staring at you the whole time. Reacted pretty strongly to hearing about Potter too”.

Remus found his gaze drawn involuntarily to the vivid blue eye as it spun around to examine him. He had only briefly encountered Mad-Eye during his days with the Order, and that eye was something he’d never gotten used to.

“Did you hear-?”

“No. Didn’t want to interfere. Kids tend to clam up around me. Thought it best to let them say what they wanted to say to you. So-” Mad-Eye raised a grizzled eyebrow. “What did they say?”

“They said Harry will being going to Diagon Alley” Remus said, feeling an anxious urge to get moving and find Harry as he said it.

“You think they’re right”. It was a statement, not a question, but Remus nodded quickly.

“Well I have a lot of questions. But again, bring them in first, ask questions later. Let’s go”.

Relief flooded Remus, but he frowned as Mad-Eye abruptly turned to lead the way. “Are you not needed here to coordinate the search?” he asked, following after him.

“Probably. But this needs to be handled quickly, and it seems everyone competent is having a day off. Dawlish!” he barked after the Auror down the corridor. “Come make yourself useful”.

Dawlish fell into step alongside them, with another furtive glance at Remus. “Where are we headed Sir?”

“We’ll start at the Leaky Cauldron-”

“-No” Remus said quickly. “Charing Cross”. Seeing Mad-Eye’s harsh sideways glare he added “Harry will be coming from the muggle world”.

Mad-Eye considered him. “Good instinct. Charing Cross it is”.

Mad-Eye led them round a corner, heading towards the emergency Apparition Point by the lifts. Even with his limp, Remus and Dawlish struggled to keep pace with the grizzled Auror’s stride. “I remember you from ‘the good old days’” Moody said as they went, somewhat sarcastically as he referred to the Order. “Often wondered why I never saw you in Auror Training afterwards”.

Remus hesitated before answering. He wasn’t sure if Moody had known of his condition during their days in the Order – it hadn’t been common knowledge at the time – but if Dawlish knew then he’d have expected Moody to be aware too, and therefore know full well why being an Auror was off the table for Remus. Perhaps he was only asking to see if Remus would admit it out loud.

“Guess I just wanted a quiet life” he finally offered politely. Moody let out a harsh laugh.

Arriving at the Apparition Point, Mad-Eye placed a scarred hand on his shoulder, and Remus felt himself thrown into Charing Cross Station. The muggles bustled at the ticket barriers, unaware of the three wizards who had suddenly materialised in their midst.

“Dawlish, wait here to see if Harry leaves the station” Mad-Eye ordered. “Bring him straight to the Ministry if you find him, then inform us”.

Remus followed after him, past the ticket barriers and out into Charing Cross Road. Along the way to the Leaky Cauldron he kept his eye out for a crop of messy black hair, though the effort was difficult. The busy London street made his head ache. Remus generally tried to avoid crowds in the days before his transformation. As the full moon approached his senses were heightened, and the sights, sounds and smells reared up loudly and clumsily. He could hear the slight whizzing of Moody’s eye next to him, spinning in every direction in their search. Remus wondered that more muggles didn’t stop to gawp at Mad Eye. Possibly the grizzled Auror used some sort of Charm.

His heart leapt at the sight of a boy with dark hair, sinking again when the boy turned to show no sign of James or Lily in his face. He watched the boy follow after his mother, guilt and terror furling in his chest at the thought of Harry alone. Not just alone, but running away from his relatives. Remus cursed himself. All those years he hadn’t checked up on Harry, all those years he’d been too cowardly to visit, to make sure he was being cared for. James and Lily’s faces swam before him, their eyes hurt and accusing. _Why didn’t you look after our son?_ their eyes seemed to say. _Why is he on his own? Why is he in danger?_

_I'm sorry_, he tried to say. But the words fell hollow. He'd abandoned Harry. Just as he'd abandoned Sirius.

Ahead of them a homeless man appeared to be making a scene. He was arguing with a pair of muggle police officers, who were trying to get him to move on. The entrance to the Leaky Cauldron stood a few shops down. As they passed, Remus listened in.

“I’m telling you, the boy was kidnapped, right in front of me!”

Moody turned abruptly at the man’s words. Remus rushed forwards, pushing past the police officers.

“Wait!” he interrupted, heart pounding. “This boy, did he have black hair and glasses? A scar on his forehead?”

The homeless man’s eyes widened. “Yes!” he said in relief. “Yes, he did!”

Moody muttered a charm behind him, and the police officers let go of the man. “This one’s your problem then” one of them mumbled distantly. They and the crowd around them dispersed.

“What did you see?” Remus asked urgently. “What happened?”

Using the same tact he had with the Weasley children, Mad-Eye kept his distance, for which Remus was grateful. The eye would be too much of a distraction.

“I know how it sounds” the homeless man began. “Them pigs thought I was drunk. But I saw it, he… the boy was in a hurry somewhere, but then this man- I swear he just sprang up out of the pavement, I didn’t see him coming”. His voice shook. “He grabbed the boy, clamped his hand over his mouth, and they vanished, right here in front of me. Like they… teleported” he finished weakly.

Dread gripped Remus. He fumbled shakily for the photograph he’d brought to the Ministry. It was a photo from James and Lily’s engagement party. In it Peter stood next to the newly engaged couple, a timid smile on his face. Remus had carried this particular photo with him, he thought bitterly, because Sirius had not been in it.

“Was this the man?” Remus asked hurriedly, pushing the photograph into the homeless man’s hands.

“Yeah… that’s the one” he heard him say. Remus stared at the spot the man had pointed to. Harry had just been here. He’d been here, and Remus had missed him, and now Peter had Harry. James and Lily’s eyes were searing into him. Oh Merlin what had he done?

“Your photo’s moving” the homeless man whispered in shock. Mad-Eye took a step forward, and the man jumped, as though he’d only just noticed him.

“You’re one of them, ain’t yeh?” the homeless man said slowly. “I see things, strange looking people coming down here all the time”. He looked back to the photo. “That the boy’s father?”

“Yes” Remus answered, a strangled pain in his chest. Where would Peter take Harry? Where could they go?

“We need to get word to Dumbledore” Moody said grimly. “And the Ministry. Divert all search parties at once. You’re coming with us” he addressed the homeless man bluntly.

The man’s eyes widened, and he took an alarmed step away. Remus cursed in frustration. He couldn’t help it. This was a lot for the man to take in, but the clock was ticking for Harry.

“Ok” the man said suddenly. “Ok. I’ll come”.

_Thank Merlin_. “Ok, you’ll have to… to teleport”.

“Fuck me. Alright then”.


	19. Phoenixes and Prophecies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a long overdue reunion, and Neville blushes a lot. Next update, we'll see what's been up with Harry...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was an obscenely long delay. I am so sorry to everyone who's been kept waiting - I lost my motivation for a bit and then life got busy again. I've spent what feels like a lifetime grappling over graduate applications and now they are finally done with and I am back to writing! To make up for a long absence, here is a long chapter!
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading and sticking with this fic - especially to all you fans of Homeless Dude! Seriously, I was blown away by your investment in him, and all your comments give me life!

For some reason, seeing Hermione at his front door felt almost as strange to Neville as waking up in his 9-year-old body had been. When Gran answered the door Neville almost jumped at the sight of her and her mum; his home and school-life suddenly colliding on his doorstep.

Hermione’s eyes lit up when she saw Neville, but she quickly hid it and looked to his grandmother. Glancing up at her, Neville could see his grandmother’s mild confusion at these two strangers.

Neville had never met Hermione’s mum, but she was almost a mirror image of her daughter. Her skin was darker, but they had the same brown eyes, the same face, the same curly hair. Mrs Granger looked nervous, but there was a determined glint in her eyes that Neville recognised all too well.

Mrs Granger was very tightly clutching Hermione’s hand. Hermione gave her mum a reassuring squeeze, and Mrs Granger immediately launched into speech. Neville felt another very familiar sensation of being caught in a gale of words. He braced himself as Mrs Granger rushed through her story: how she was sorry to drop by like this but she’d just found out her daughter was a witch that morning; how Hermione had apparently met Neville on a trip to Kew Gardens and how they’d been writing to each other ever since; how Neville had told Hermione about a secret wizarding world and a magic school and-

Neville felt his grandmother’s eyes on him and felt his cheeks flush.

“I’m very sorry for dropping by like this” Mrs Granger repeated warily. “Hermione said your grandson’s been a good friend, he’s explained all he could about this… this other world, it’s just-”

“You have thousands of questions” Gran finished for her, sighing sympathetically. She gave them a curt but welcoming nod. “You better come inside, this must be a lot for you to take in”.

As she beckoned the Grangers across the threshold Gran cast Neville a strange look. “You said it was Kew Gardens they met?”

“Yes, we went there as a family last August, though I don’t remember your grandson. Hermione must have slipped away at some point”.

“Hmm. Yes, Neville has been to Kew Gardens quite a few times with my sister-in-law. He has an odd passion for plants”.

Neville let out a breath. Hermione gave him a small smile in relief as they followed the grown-ups into the living room. As they entered the room the portrait of Great-Grandmother Agatha Longbottom looked up from her book in interest, peering at them from her spot above the mantlepiece. Mrs Granger stopped in her tracks. She blinked rapidly at the moving portrait, gaping as though unsure she had seen correctly. After a beat Hermione did the same next to her, staring up at the portrait in a passable performance of awe.

The corner of Gran's mouth twitched. She gestured the Grangers towards the sofa. “I have to offer you an apology, Mrs Granger” she said briskly as they sat down. “Usually someone is sent along to explain all of this to the parents, but typically only when the child turns eleven. I’m on the board of governors for the school, and I’ve often argued it would be prudent to explain it earlier. Children typically begin to display magic between the ages of seven and nine”.

Mrs Granger tore her eyes away from the portrait and let out a shaky laugh. “I’m extremely grateful for your grandson then, Mrs Longbottom”.

“Please Mrs Granger, call me Augusta” Gran insisted, holding out her hand. Mrs Granger smiled tentatively and shook hands.

“I’m Abena” she said, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

“Lovely to meet you Abena”. Gran glanced at Neville and Hermione, who teetered nervously to the side. “Neville, why don’t you take Hermione upstairs to play while we talk?”

Not needing to be told twice, Neville led Hermione up the stairs two steps at a time. Once they were out of earshot Hermione startled him with a hug.

“Oh Neville it’s so good to see you!” Hermione said excitedly. “I’m sorry I didn’t owl ahead, my mum walked in on me doing magic and by the time I finished explaining your owl had flown off – it bit me by the way – I couldn’t believe it when mum suggested we come straight here – we haven’t even told my dad yet – mum had so many questions the whole car ride over – but the story about Kew Gardens worked!”

Hermione seemed to say this all in one breath. Now that he’d met her mum Neville could tell where she’d got it from.

“It’s great to see you too” he said, beaming. “This- this whole thing… the past few days have been” he shook his head, at loss for words.

“It’s been disorientating to say the least” Hermione finished for him. “I was so relieved when you replied to my letter. I’d hate to be back here all by myself. Oh, Harry’s back too! I managed to talk to him on the phone. I haven’t managed to contact Ron though, but he must be back as well. Have you heard anything from him and Ginny?” she asked Neville hopefully.

Neville shook his head. “No, I haven’t heard from them”. Seeing Hermione’s disappointment he added quickly. “They probably just haven’t been able to borrow Errol”.

“Yes, that must be it” Hermione nodded restlessly. “Could we send them an owl? Just so they know we’re here too? And Ron won’t know to expect Professor Lupin and- did he look like he believed it, when you gave him the letter?”

“Professor Lupin?” Neville blinked. “Yeah, I mean, I called him Mooney like you said and he looked…” He looked like Neville had thrown a bucket of ice water over his head. “But… what was that about anyway?”

“Well” Hermione took a deep breath. “It’s a long story”.

It was indeed a long story. Hermione paced as she explained, and Neville found it just as disorientating as time travel. As she finished her tale Neville, madly, found himself laughing.

“What?” Hermione said.

Neville flushed. “It’s just, you had something that could turn back time” he said timidly. “And you used it to, um, take extra classes?”

“And to help Sirius and Buckbeak escape” Hermione said defensively.

Through all the bewilderment, Neville had been glad to hear about Buckbeak. As terrifying as the Hippogriffs had been, he’d developed a soft spot for them after they’d attacked Malfoy. Speaking of Malfoy, he couldn’t wait to tell Hermione about shoving a cake in his face. He put the happy thought aside for now.

“It was the time turner then, wasn’t it” Neville asked Hermione. “That’s what sent us back?”

Hermione bit her lip. “I don’t think so” she said slowly. “At least, not just the time turner. I think it was Fawkes. You know, the Phoenix”.

Neville felt an involuntary shiver at the memory of the phoenix. The way it had been writhing in pain. He swallowed stiffly as Hermione continued.

“Time turners don’t make you younger” she explained, partly to herself. “They take you back in time as you are, and you don’t take the place of your younger self. When I was using it I had to be careful, because there would be two sets of me running around Hogwarts at the same time. However” Hermione said excitedly. “Phoenixes have regenerative abilities”.

She’d gone back to her pacing, eyes swirling as she put the pieces together. “When they grow old, they burst into flame, and they’re reborn from the ashes as a baby. Harry saw it for himself in Dumbledore’s office, so we know Phoenixes have the ability to reverse aging…”

“So that’s why we’re 9-years-old again” Neville said, catching on.

Hermione nodded. “The time turner broke, and the hourglass crashed on the floor at the same time that the Phoenix burst into flame. I think that somehow the combination of the two did this. So…” she frowned. “Does that mean this was an accident?”

It was like being questioned by McGonagall on switching spells. The implication set in slowly. “Um, wait, you think the phoenix did this on purpose?” Neville did _not_ like that idea at all.

“Well, why did it fly towards us? Hermione ran a hand through her hair. “And- it looked healthy. Harry said it had looked sick when he saw it burn so- so can phoenixes burn on impulse then?

It was dizzying, watching Hermione jump from one train of thought to the next. As comforting as Neville found it it to know that _someone_ was at least figuring things out, he couldn’t help but feel of little use.

“Do you have any books on phoenixes?” Hermione asked suddenly.

“Um” Neville hurried out of his seat. “Um, Gran has a library in her study”.

They tiptoed their way across the landing and into his grandmother’s study. Dionysius eyed them from his perch. Neville winced as the owl ruffled his feathers, as though offended by their intrusion, but thankfully he didn’t screech at them. Hermione’s eyes widened at the bookshelves.

“It goes so high” she said, a note of awe in her voice.

Neville’s heart sank as he glanced up to realise just how high the shelves went. If the book they needed was near the top, they’d never reach.

“Wait here” he said. Leaving Hermione to peruse the books he hurried quietly down the stairs. On his way to the kitchen he overhead Mrs Granger in the living room.

“I’m sorry the two of them kept the letters a secret”. Mrs Granger sounded much more relaxed than she had earlier. “Hermione really should have at least told me she had a pen-pal, and these days you can never be too careful”.

“Yes, I’ll be having a word with Neville about that” came his grandmother’s voice. “Though honestly Abena, I’m just thankful he’s made a friend”.

Neville felt a small pinch at the surprise in her voice. The sad realisation crept over him. This was the first time he’d really had a friend over.

Not that his grandmother hadn’t tried. There had been plenty of playdates arranged, usually with other children with parents on the School Board. None of these playdates had been successful. The other boys had tended to be boisterous whereas Neville was... Neville.

He _had_ managed to have one peaceful playdate when Hannah Abbot was invited over. Peggy had laid out a picnic blanket for them by the crab apple tree in the garden, and they’d spent the afternoon in the sun, drawing with Neville’s new rainbow crayons and munching on pumpkin pasties. Gran had victoriously arranged a sleepover that very night. But then Neville’s nerves had to go and ruin it, and to his horror he wet the bed.

In his humiliation he’d been too ashamed to invite her back, and Gran had sighed and decided not to press the matter. Neville had dreaded seeing Hannah again at Hogwarts, blushing volcanic hot at the thought. But if Hannah remembered the bed-wetting incident at all then she made no mention of it. Still, Neville cursed himself for ruining everything. It would have been nice, to have Hannah as a friend.

Hermione was his friend, he reassured himself. And Ron and Harry. But at school he was never really one of them. Not that he thought they would turn him away. Perhaps he should have tried to join in more. But Neville could never really shake the sense that he’d be interfering somehow. He didn’t know how the other kids at school did it, how they could join in conversations so easily without an invitation.

Gran would roll her eyes if he said that out loud. _“Don’t be ridiculous Neville”_ he could hear her scoff. _“Don’t wait for an invitation. Do that and no one will pay you any notice”._

He knew she was right. He kept going back to that night in first year, and imagined what would have been if he’d gone with Harry, Ron and Hermione instead of trying to stop them. Dumbledore had awarded him 10 points for bravery. Neville hadn’t felt brave. There had been nothing brave about lying frozen on the common room floor, while his housemates walked daringly towards danger.

Shaking off these thoughts, Neville entered the kitchen. Penny was by the sink, stood on a stool so she could reach the dishes. The small elf turned to him before he spoke.

“Master Longbottom” she climbed down off the stool.

“Um, sorry, are you busy Penny?”

“No, I has just finished serving Mrs Granger tea. What can I help you with, Master Longbottom?”

“Me and my friend are trying to find a book on phoenixes, in Gran’s study” Neville said gingerly. He wasn’t sure if he were really allowed in there. Or if Penny would tell on him. “But we can’t reach the top shelves…”

“You want _Magical Creatures and their Mysteries_” a shaky voice came from the back of the kitchen. “On the second top shelf behind the desk”.

Neville and Penny both turned to see Peggy, leaning against the pantry door for support. Neville felt a pang in his heart to see her again, her hazel eyes peering through her many wrinkles. She was much smaller than he remembered, made smaller as she hunched over in her starched-white pillow case.

“Mother, you must go back to bed” Penny scolded, but the wizened old house elf smiled at Neville.

“Hello Peggy” Neville said softly. He felt a small tear in his throat, and tried to cover it with a cough. “How are you feeling?”

“Ooph” she said with affect. “Like shaky old bones”. Peggy waved away her daughter’s attempts to lead her back to bed. “I can help you find the book”.

“I will find it mother” Penny insisted. “You need to rest”.

“Penny’s right” Neville added. “Um, here” he offered his arm. Penny let out a sigh of relief as her mother took it. Peggy smiled her toothy smile up at him as he led her back to bed.

“You have gotten older Neville” she said in light surprise. “Not as old as me, but you are older”.

Neville froze and stared at Peggy in amazement. Could she somehow tell?

Peggy laughed at his expression and patted his hand. “Our magic is an old one, young Neville, and not often understood, as I try telling Penny. You are very sad to see me”.

Neville shook his head. “I’m happy to see you Peggy”.

“And sad” she insisted. “You are almost all grown up. I will hear all about it, before I go”.

Penny lowered her mother into bed. It was made from old pillows, fashioned together in the corner of the pantry. Neville watched, and once again the sick feeling that something was wrong curdled in his gut. Peggy had lived in this house for years. She told him once that her mother and grandmother had lived here too, long before the Longbottoms ever set foot here.

And here she was, sleeping and dying in the pantry. Neville swallowed. He wasn’t sure _why_ it hadn’t felt wrong before coming back in time. Maybe it was the knowledge that she was going to die quietly in this corner of the pantry once again. Maybe it was because this time he was seeing her towards the end, as he hadn’t been allowed to before. He didn’t even remember if there had been a funeral...

Penny stroked her mother’s head as she went to sleep, and muttered something gently. She then stood up in a hurry, as though only just remembering Neville was there. “I will help you with your book, young Neville” she said quickly, and she scurried out of the kitchen ahead of him.

With one last look at Peggy, Neville hurried up the stairs after her. He only just reached the study door when Penny came to him, the book already in hand. “I must hurry Master Longbottom” she said quietly. With a tiny bow she hurried back down the stairs before Neville could blink, his thank you dying on his tongue.

Inside the study Hermione was perched on the window sill, absorbed in scanning the index of a heavy book. Two other books lay by her side. Penny must have slipped in and out so quietly that Hermione hadn’t noticed her. Neville stood awkwardly at the doorway until Hermione closed the book with a sigh.

“No mention of phoenixes in that one” she said in disappointment, glancing upwards. “Did you find a way to reach the top shelves?”

“N-No, but here” Neville fumbled with the book in his arms. “Er, _Magical Creatures and their Mysteries_”.

Hermione’s eyes lit up hungrily as they opened the book. Neville peered over her shoulder. On the page gleamed a detailed illustration of a large swan-like bird with a red and gold plumage, it’s long peacock tail curling into flames. Hermione’s fingers traced the feathers, and at her touch the illustration shifted. The flames sifted slowly up the tail, and rippled its way across the wings. It was a beautiful effect, but Neville privately thought it didn’t at all capture what he’d witnessed in the hospital wing. The flames had engulfed Fawkes in the blink of an eye, transforming the bird into a roaring, blazing creature, made entirely from the flames themselves. Now that he thought about it though, he couldn’t recall feeling a burn in his hands. Even though they’d been grasping the thrashing bird as it set alight.

Shifting the heavy book onto her lap, Hermione began to read out loud:

_“The Phoenix is a creature of many names and varieties – Bennu, Garuda, Firebird, Simurgh – and has long been revered by magical communities around the world. It’s regenerative abilities have been the subject of devoted study, and the Phoenix is rumoured by some to be key to understanding the Elixir of Life._

_Beyond its regenerative abilities, early practitioners of magic looked to the Phoenix as a giver of wisdom, with early Persian sorcerers once believing the Simurgh to possess knowledge of all ages. Likewise the Bennu is still studied to this day in Egypt, where the Order of Osiris takes note of its stages of immolation and rebirth. Divinationists within the Order believe the timing of a burning to be a forecast of either good or bad fortune, and proclaim the burning of a healthy Phoenix as a warning”._

Hermione’s voice trailed off. Neville watched her eyes read and re-read the last few lines. He jumped as she suddenly stood up, her eyes wide as dinner plates. She was silently mouthing something.

“That’s it!” she finally exclaimed. “Fawkes burnt as a warning!”

“Wait” stumbled Neville. “A warning? Of what?”

Hermione didn’t answer. Her face screwed up in concentration.

“_It will happen tonight_… what was it? _Tonight before midnight the servant will- will break free and re-join his master!_” Hermione recited urgently. “_The dark lord will rise again, greater and more terrible than ever! _Trelawney had a prophecy the day Pettigrew escaped! She said it to Harry just a few hours before! And Fawkes… if phoenixes possess knowledge of all ages then maybe he could sense what was going to happen, so he undid it! He sent us back!

“Please slow down” Neville begged, his heart hammering at the mention of You-Know-Who. “What was going to happen?”

Hermione finally stopped pacing and looked at him. “Back in our old time” she explained. “Trelawney predicted that Pettigrew was going to find You-Know-Who, and help him come back”.

“I thought- I thought you didn’t believe in Trelawney?” Neville said weakly.

“Well, no…” Hermione flustered. “I’m just not ruling anything out. Given the situation”. There was a manic energy to Hermione as she continued, a feverish excitement Neville hadn’t quite seen in her before. “Neville, don’t you see? This is why were are here. This is what we were sent back to prevent!”

Neville gaped at her. The enormity of what she was suggesting reared impossibly in his mind, and he wondered how someone like him had gotten caught up in it. “We’ve prevented it then, haven’t we?” Neville asked hopefully. “I mean, Professor Lupin knows about Pettigrew now, right?”

“Maybe. We need to get a message to Ron right now, to see what’s happened with Scabbers. Can we use your owl?”

Grabbing her a quill and some parchment, Neville watched Hermione as she scribbled down a letter to Ron.

“How much detail are you putting in?” he asked as she copied down Trelawney’s prophecy, word for word as she remembered it.

“Everything” she said with fervour, her hand racing across the parchment. In spite of everything, Neville found himself wondering how she managed to write more neatly fast than he could slow.

As she wrote, Neville wandered back over to the book. He eyed the illustration of the phoenix reproachfully. Making to close the book, Neville saw that one page had been earmarked. He turned the pages to see a small entry on house elves. Surprised, he remembered Peggy had recommended him the book. Neville let out a breath. All these years, he never knew Peggy used the library...

“Finished” Hermione said happily behind him. They tentatively approached Dionysius, who thankfully consented to have the letter tied around his leg. They watched as the owl flew off into the wintry air, swooping up and over the chimneys and roofs until he dipped out of sight. Neville hesitated as he made to close the window, shivering slightly from the cold bite outside. His grandmother's study overlooked the old crab apple tree, where he and Hannah had once spent an afternoon drawing in the sun. It stood bare and rigid below them, and looked strangely out of place now. It had been cut down in the future, he remembered. But now it was back.

He glanced sideways at Hermione, who was still watching the space where the owl had been. She had a familiar look in her eyes, one of multiple trains of thought colliding and running off each other.

The question escaped him before he could even think to hesitate – “Would you like to sleep over?”

Hermione jolted out of her reverie. She blinked at Neville. “Sorry?”

“I-” Neville felt himself blushing so fiercely he could have burst into flames like Fawkes. “I was just thinking, we could wait together for Ron and Ginny to reply, though you don’t have to, I mean, if you don’t want to I’ll send you a letter to let you know as soon as they-”

“It’s not that” Hermione said quickly, with a surprised smile. “It’s just, well, no one ever asked me to a sleepover before”.

Neville’s head spun with relief. “Me neither” he said.

There was an odd lightness in his body as they turned away from the window, making their way downstairs to ask permission for a sleepover. The thought of You-Know-Who returning was terrifying, almost as terrifying as the idea that Fawkes had sent Neville, of all people, back in time to help stop it.

Well. Not sent _him_, of course. Neville had just happened to be in the hospital wing at the wrong time. Still, here he was. And, despite his terror, despite being small again, despite the continuing utter confusion at everything around him, Neville found he didn’t wish the Phoenix had stopped him from tagging along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I hope everyone is staying safe. If you are in America this is a scary time for you, and I hope you all stay strong. Make sure your vote counts, and remember now more than ever that Black Lives Matter, and Trans Women are Women.


	20. The Fourth Marauder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up in the snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone!

The world drifted around Harry in a sedate shadow. Distant shapes passed by above, blurred and unidentifiable, but Harry soon lost interest in them. A heavy peace settled in his head, gently encouraging him to ignore the shapes and sleep.

A small light glowed amidst the shadows. Harry slowly blinked at it. It interrupted the lull, tugging at Harry’s attention. The source of light was barely bigger than a snitch, and it moved like one. The moment he laid eyes on it, the light would dart out of view, flying away whenever he tried to look. Just when he’d decide to ignore it and turn sleepily away, the light would spark up again. It glowed insistently, inviting him to chase.

In the corner of his eye, Harry eventually made it out to be the shape of a small chick. It left a faint trail of fire and smoke as it moved. He reached out a hand to grasp it, and again the flames danced ahead of him. Harry reached clumsily again, feeling a small well of frustration. The flaming bird jumped lightly away between his fingers. It was flying higher, flickering teasingly above him, drawing his gaze further and further upwards-

Harry craned his neck up and the sky flooded with white light.

Harry opened his eyes, suddenly awake and shivering. The land around him was one of blinding whiteness. The snow shone in the cold sun, coating the forest floor and weighing down the pine branches in glistening clumps. The forest trees were thin and sparse, leaving them out under the harsh glare of the open sky

He tried sitting up, only to find that his hands and feet were bound tightly with rope. A metre away from him, Wormtail crouched in the snow. He sat hunched over a map with his back to Harry. As he studied it, Harry heard him mutter something under his breath. He gave no indication he knew Harry was awake.

Harry held his breath. With a cautious glance at Wormtail, he slowly shifted himself to look around at where they were, trying to make as little noise as possible. His wrists chafed under the rope, stinging in the cold. As he rolled onto his shoulder, Harry came close to gasping out. The pain in his arm shot up sharply as he put weight on it. Gritting his teeth, Harry inched himself further to see behind him.

They were overlooking a vast wooded valley. Grey frosty mountains rose up from either side of the forest below, which stretched onwards to the horizon in a sea of snow-laden pine. The trees clutched together tightly, so tightly Harry doubted sunlight could pass between them.

The forest lay eerily still. It seemed to emanate a cold silence over the valley. As Harry stared into the trees he began to shiver uncontrollably. A cruel voice from many years ago whispered from the depths of his darkest nightmares, sounding so close it hissed directly into his ear.

Harry knew without being told that Wormtail was taking him into that forest, and who would be waiting for them there.

He turned to see Wormtail watching him. The first time he’d laid eyes on Peter Pettigrew, when he’d been forced out of his disguise, Harry had seen traces of the rat clinging to his face. He had figured it was a side effect of spending so many years transformed. Sure enough, four years earlier the rat-like features were less defined, the nose no longer as pointed, the eyes no longer small watery beads. The man before him bore a stronger resemblance to the one in his parent’s wedding photograph, smiling next to the friends he would betray within two years’ time.

A hot surge of anger reared within Harry, spitting and roaring at the sight of him. Seeing his expression, Wormtail’s breath hitched.

“So it’s true” he stated in numb disbelief. “You know me”.

Harry trembled. “Yeah” he spat. “I know you. And what you did”.

Wormtail said nothing, and turned away, which incensed Harry further. “You betrayed my parents” he shouted after him, shaking from anger and cold. “You murdered them, and all those people-”

The Wormtail from before had denied it. Cornered and wandless, and faced with a murderous Sirius and Remus, he had thrown himself desperately towards Harry, whimpering and grovelling at his feet.

Now, wand in hand and with no one else for miles, Wormtail acted as though Harry had not spoken. As he hunched back over the map, he appeared to be determinedly not looking at Harry.

“How many others?” Wormtail muttered to himself frantically. His eyes stared unseeingly at the map before him. “How is this possible... First the Weasley boy…”

Harry stilled at the mention of Ron. “What- what happened?” he asked slowly. A sick dread clenched his heart. “You- Ron isn’t-”

His back still turned, Harry saw Wormtail flinch.

“I silenced him” Wormtail said, a faint tremor in his voice. “Him and his sister”.

Harry stared at Wormtail. “You’re lying” he heard himself say. "You-" The words fell feebly onto the forest floor, and all sound and air vanished. Panic seized him. “You’re lying!” Harry screamed. He thrashed against the ropes.

Wormtail’s wand flashed and Harry’s scream stopped in his throat. Stricken mute, he continued to struggle, tears freezing on his face. Ron. Ginny. It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. It couldn’t…

“There’s no point trying to get away” came Wormtail’s voice. “You won’t get far before you freeze to death. And no one is looking for us here”.

Harry stopped struggling. He lay in the snow, the helplessness of his situation setting in. Harry knew people would be looking for him. The Ministry had gone into a panic the last time the boy-who-lived ran away from home. But as far as anyone knew, Harry had just ran away. No one would know Wormtail had kidnapped him, never mind look here, even if Ron had managed to-

Harry desperately thought back to Ron’s voice on the phone, drowned out by Uncle Vernon’s bellowing. His voice had sounded urgent – had it been out of fear? Had Wormtail been behind him? Had he wrenched the phone out of Ron’s hand and-

_No_. He tried to tell himself. Wormtail could be- _must_ be lying. Ron and Ginny couldn’t be gone. Harry clung to that small, desperate hope. _Please let them be alive_.

Wormtail twitched, and looked up. Heart pounding, Harry heard a rustle of footsteps in the snow. He shifted against the ropes to see.

Two figures were approaching. A man and a woman. Harry’s heart sank as he saw their clothes and equipment; one of them was hauling a heavy camera. They were muggles, hiking in the snow. As they approached, one of the figures slowly raised a hand in greeting.

Harry tried to shout a warning, but no sound escaped him. The man called out something in another language. When he got no reply he switched to English.

“Hello? English? We hear scream”.

The woman suddenly grasped her friend’s wrist. She pointed at Harry, bound in the snow. Wormtail slowly rose. His wand trembled in his hand.

The man dropped the camera and lunged forward, shouting something. Harry frantically shook his head, but it was too late-

“Avada Kedavra”

There was a rushing sound, as though an invisible winged spectre had swept through the trees. A green light engulfed the man, and vanished. His body crumpled into the snow.

Harry stopped breathing. He distantly heard the woman scream as Wormtail turned to her. He didn’t look up, instead staring into the dead man’s eyes. They stared back at him, unseeing and glass-like. For a moment they almost came back to life, briefly illuminated by a second flash of green light, before rolling back into emptiness.

This was the curse that murdered his parents. That green light, his earliest memory, was the last thing they ever saw. Had it been the same for Ron and Ginny?

Harry watched numbly as Wormtail shakily peeled off the man’s coat. As he put it on, Harry suddenly registered that he was shivering violently. Despite himself, he felt a part of him both leap and recoil at the idea of having the woman’s coat.

Wormtail did not give it to him. He raised a trembling arm, and muttered an incantation. The hikers vanished before him. Two small bones took their place, gleaming white and clean in the snow.

As he buried them, Wormtail finally broke the silence. “They heard you” he rasped. “If you hadn’t made a sound, this wouldn’t have happened”.

After he finished burying them he pulled Harry quickly to his feet. Leaving his hands bound, Wormtail untied the ropes around his legs. Harry heard him utter a spell, and felt his clothes heat up. Wormtail then repeated the spell, and the warmth vanished. The message was clear: stay close if you don’t want to freeze to death.

Wormtail shoved Harry forwards, and he felt his feet oblige. They began to wind their way down to the valley. Harry stumbled with his hands behind his back. Wormtail grabbed the scruff of his collar with one hand, his wand held in the other.

The forest leered below them. The pine trees bared their leaves like hungry teeth, welcoming their descent.


End file.
